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“ Above them towered the 
?nountain , into whose green 
retreats they could gazed' 
— Frontispiece 


Sweet Peggy 


By 

Linnie Sarah Harris 


Cantabile 



Boston 

Little, Brown, and Company 
1904 


| LIBRARY of OONGRFSS 

Two Oool«9 R«rHved 

SEP 13 1904 

JJoDWfsrht Enfrv 
yteJo /(ff iqey 
CLASS CL XXo. No 

?£ 7<3 7 

COPY 3 


TZ-3 


c 

o 


Copyright , 1904, 

By Little, Brown, and Company. 

All rights reserved 
Published October, 1904 



THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, V. S. A. 


CONTENTS 

4 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. A Spring Song i 

II. An Idyl 14 

III. Vespers 29 

IV. Vivace 40 

V. Adagio 54 

VI. Matins 69 

VII. Allegretto 81 

VIII. Melodie 97 

IX. A Barcarolla hi 

X. A Prelude 127 

XI. A Festival Chorus 140 

XII. A Nocturne 152 

XIII. A Gypsy Rondo 166 

XIV. In the Minor Key 178 

XV. A Requiem 19 1 

XVI. A Trio 206 

XVII. A Symphony 219 

XVIII. The Theme 230 

XIX. The Bridal Chorus 247 

XX. A Duet *59 

XXI. The Finale 268 



SWEET PEGGY 


Chapter I 
A SPRING SONG 



I T was spring ; the fields had seen her, the 
woods had felt her, and the flowers had re- 
sponded to her warm kiss. Everywhere 
they had started up, and from under the tangled 
alder bushes peeped the shy blue violets, while in 
the fields the hardy dandelions gathered to hold 
high carnival with the buttercups and daisies. 
The trees were putting on their new spring verd- 
ure, vying with each other in shades from the 
olive of the willow to the pale sheen of the 
maple and the delicate gold-green of the elm. 
The sky, a warm, tender blue, was flecked with 
soft, delicate clouds changing from rosy red to 
pale gray, then flaming out into amethyst and 



SWEET PEGGY 


gold as the lights and shadows played upon them. 
The rugged sides of the mountains were decked 
in marvellous tints of green, and the bold gray 
peaks of Suncook and Hoary-Head rose out of 
masses of soft shades, their black summits flush- 
ing a rosy red in the light of the morning and 
evening sun. The lake, which had lain cold and 
still, wrapped in icy fetters all winter, now flashed 
and sparkled in the sunlight. Now it was a 
dark, deep blue, then again covered with a silver 
foam, as the west wind and north wind tossed and 
tumbled and laughed and played in its waters. 

On a bright sunny afternoon in May it is all 
very well to lean back against a warm gray ledge, 
covered with tiny red lichens, and look up through 
the canopy of leaves, among which the wind is 
whispering, to the blue sky and drifting white 
clouds, but it is not so pleasant to find one- 
self a prisoner in such a place.- Nature may do 
her best, the birds may carol their choicest songs, 
but you do not care. The breeze may come 
whispering to your ear, but it brings no com- 
fort, and the shifting, quivering shafts of sunlight 
shooting down through the canopy of leaves only 
hurt and dazzle your eyes. 

Maxwell York had slipped in coming down 
over a ledge, and when he tried to get up he 


A SPRING SONG 

found that his ankle had twisted under him in a 
way ankles sometimes do, so that he could not 
bear his weight upon it. He had hobbled a few 
steps, but had soon been obliged to give up, and 
he now sat under an old gray birch nursing his 
foot and grumbling at his luck. Had he slipped 
and fallen while scaling the almost inaccessible 
ledges of Suncook, or in crawling down from the 
summit of old Hoary-Head, he would not have 
been surprised. That would have been tragedy, 
and he would at least have kept his dignity to 
sustain him, but the cows came down over that 
little insignificant ledge, sure-footed, every day. 
It was in the lane which led out behind the 
mountain to the back field. The back field was 
part of the ancestral acres which he was going to 
cultivate, and he had gone out to inspect it. 
Eben Doolittle had said that it was entirely run 
out, but when Maxwell saw it his ideas of run- 
out fields had undergone a change. Run out 1 
Why, it was a field of cloth of gold, but Eben 
declared that no matter how yellow the cream 
and butter might be, cows would n't eat butter- 
cups nohow. For all that, tfie back field, with 
its golden fleece dotted here and there with gray 
rocks overrun with tangled blueberry bushes now 
tipped with delicate pink blossoms, was a poem, 
3 


SWEET PEGGY 


and should not be torn up by the plough, no 
matter what Eben said. 

Five o’clock. He consulted his watch every 
few seconds, and was more than once convinced 
the thing had stopped, the minutes dragged so 
slowly. They would be going after the cows 
soon. He was not on Eben’s beat; the ledge 
that had played him such a trick was in Farmer 
Turner’s pasture, and soon some barefooted boy 
would come along who would give him assistance. 
What a fool he had been to slip ! He would be 
laid up for the rest of the summer, but at any 
rate, Leo should n’t find it out. She would come 
down on him with arnica and bandages and carry 
him off to Point Breeze before he could help 
himself, where all the fashionables he had come 
to his ancestral acres to avoid would have him at 
their mercy. Confound it ! Was it only two 
minutes since he looked at his watch ? he was 
sure it had been two hours. 

The shafts of sunlight grew longer and made a 
pathway of gold through the flickering leaves of 
the birches. The birds began calling to each 
other that it was time to knock off work for the 
day, have tea, and get ready for the evening 
concert. Far off in the forest depths a mourn- 
ful note rang out: “ All day, fiddling, fiddling, 
4 


A SPRING SONG 

fiddling ! ” which was quickly responded to from 
another direction with a cheerful : “ Phoebe ! 
Phoebe ! ” A big fat robin, swaying on a bough 
at the door of his new summer cottage, cocked 
his head saucily at York and announced shrilly : 
cc More wet ! more wet,” while a social bird from 
another tree warbled cheerily : “ How d’ ye do ? 
How d ’ ye do ? ” A squirrel frisked down the 
gray trunk of a hollow old spruce near by. He 
was in a great hurry, for Mrs. Squirrel had sent 
•him out to get some young spruce buds, which 
were considered very wholesome for tea. Com- 
ing suddenly upon a long gray figure stretched 
out at the foot of the tree, he stopped short for a 
survey, his head cocked very much on one side. 
The figure did not stir ; the hat was pulled down 
over the eyes ; there was no terrible gun near, 
and, resolving to run the risk, Mr. Squirrel took 
a step farther down the trunk, when suddenly there 
was a great threshing round among the dry leaves ; 
the figure sitting up pushed the cap back where 
it belonged, and, with a whisk of his tail, Mr. 
Squirrel frisked back up the tree, where from a 
distant limb he could sit with his tail up over his 
back and watch the invader. 

It was very still in the woods now. The birds 
had ceased to labor and, engaged with their even- 
5 


SWEET PEGGY 


ing meal, were too busy to gossip with their 
neighbors. The concert would not begin until 
six. Mr. Squirrel on his distant limb chattered 
a little from excitement. The gray figure was 
alarming; it threshed about so and growled as 
that savage animal, man, has a very unpleasant 
way of doing. He hoped Mrs. Squirrel would 
not be so imprudent as to venture out to see what 
had become of him. He ought to put in a tele- 
phone connection between his office on the bough 
and the house in the hollow trunk. He certainly 
should if the woods were going to be infested 
with those dangerous long-legged creatures. 

Half-past five ! York laid himself down with 
a groan, much to the satisfaction of the squirrel. 
Where was that boy? It. was certainly time he 
appeared. York’s ankle was swelling visibly and 
ached like fury. He would like to kick some- 
body for his own stupidity. What are ankles 
good for if they cannot stand a little twist? He 
was sure every bone in his foot was broken. If 
he had hold of that boy he would make him 
dance to double-quick time. 

Suddenly from the forest stillness came a 
voice, a human voice, clear, liquid, beautiful as a 
bird’s, but with a quality no bird’s voice ever pos- 
sessed. A tender, melting cadence rose and fell 
6 


A SPRING SONG 


like an angel’s note at the gate of Heaven. York 
sat up straight to listen. 


! 

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Faint and sweet came the chiming melody to 
his listening ear, then as it drew nearer he caught 
the words : 

Bass. “ Kyrie eleison, 

Tenor . Kyrie eleison, 

Alto. Kyrie eleison, 

Soprano. Kyrie eleison, eleison, e-le-i-son ! ” 
rising higher and higher until the last “ Eleison ” 
died away on one sweet, pure note, and all was 
still. 

For a moment York did not move. What was 
it, — a great singer wandering among the trees peal- 
ing forth the prayer : “ Lord, have mercy,” which 
for ages had gone up to the great throne from 
human hearts and voices ? Or was it a dream ? 
The woods were now silent except for the faint 
twitter of some bird ; the rustling of a rabbit in 
the underbrush, or the whispering of the birch 
leaves over his head. He must have fallen asleep 
and dreamed of one of those entrancing melodies 
which were often floating about him. But no, 
again the marvellous voice broke the stillness, 
7 


SWEET PEGGY 

nearer this time, and the theme and melody had 
changed. 

“ A nut-brown maiden, free, am I, 

Singing beneath the summer sky : 

‘ I care for nobody, nobody, no. 

And nobody cares for me. * ” 

It was a wood-nymph or a fairy carolling joy- 
ously to herself in the cool forest depths. York 
sat erect, alert and eager, his hand on his wounded 
foot ; his hat pushed back on his head. Whoever 
she might be, she was coming toward him. He 
could hear the rustle of the bushes where the 
alders almost met across the path. Some one was 
crashing through them, but could it be the glo- 
rious singer ? With such a voice as he had been 
listening to, she should walk as lightly as a fairy 
being, but the crashing among the bushes seemed 
to denote the approach of some ponderous body. 
Peering eagerly forward to catch the first glimpse 
of the new-comer, a disappointed look came over 
York’s face for neither fairy nor wood-nymph, 
angel nor siren, appeared, only the mild, gentle 
face of Farmer Turner’s cream-colored Jersey, 
leading the homeward herd through the bushes. 
York drew back in disgust as one by one the 
cows picked their way down the ledge which had 
worked him such mischief. But if the mysterious 


A SPRING SONG 


singer did not appear, at least deliverance was at 
hand, for behind the cows came a slender girl in 
a short thick skirt, pink shirt waist, white linen 
hat, thick shoes, and in her hand a willow switch. 
Only Peggy Turner driving home the cows ! 
The voice could not have come from her; she 
had never heard of Verdi’s Requiem in her life. 
Besides, that was no ordinary voice ; he must 
surely have been dreaming. Were such illusions 
the usual accompaniments of sprained ankles ? 
If so, they had their compensations. 

“ Holloa, Peggy, ar’n’t you going to play the 
good Samaritan ? ” 

The girl started at hearing her name and turned 
a surprised face toward the young man under the 
birch-tree. 

“Why, Mr. York,” she exclaimed, “how you 
startled me ! I did n’t know there was any one 
here ; I thought I had the woods all to myself.” 

“ Well, you have n’t,” York informed her in 
a decided tone. “ I ’ve had about all the woods 
I want. I ’ve been sitting under this tree,” taking 
out his watch, “ exactly one hour thirty-six min- 
utes and a half.” 

“Well,” remarked Peggy, slowly, “ you must 
be very much attached to it.” 

“ I am,” said he, grimly, “ so much attached to 
9 


SWEET PEGGY 


it I can’t leave it. The fact is, Peggy, I was such 
a stupid ass as to sprain my ankle coming down 
over that ledge. If I ’d had as much sense as 
your cows I would have been more careful ; ” and 
he gazed at the innocent bovines who were taking 
advantage of the halt to help themselves to the 
sweet white violets growing under the edge of the 
alders. 

“ Why, what a shame ! ” exclaimed Peggy, full 
of sympathy at once. “ Is it hurt very badly ? 
Has it begun to swell ? Does it pain you very 
much ? ” 

“ Never mind the foot,” said York, ungratefully 
waving her off as she drew near and bent down to 
inspect the injured member. “ It does n’t deserve 
any attention. What I want you to do is go and 
get either your father or Eben — perhaps it will 
take them both — to cart me home in a wheel- 
barrow like a bag of meal.” 

“ They can drive the light wagon out here,” 
Peggy assured him. “ The lane is quite wide 
enough ; father often comes as far as this in the 
wagon. I ’ll go as fast as I can ; you must be so 
tired.” 

She was speeding away when York stopped her. 

“ I say, Peggy, did you hear some one singing 
just now ? ” 


A SPRING SONG 


The girl turned and came back to him. 

cc Did you hear it ? ” she asked in an interested 
tone. 

“ I certainly did, or else I was dreaming,” he 
replied. cc I was rather inclined to think I had 
fallen into a trance ; but if you heard it, it must 
have been real.” 

“ What did you think of it ? ” she asked eagerly. 
“ Was it good ? ” 

<c Good ! ” he repeated. “ You never heard 
such a voice, Peggy. It was a pure contralto 
with a marvellous range. I ’d hobble half a 
mile on this confounded foot to hear it 
again.” 

cc Keep perfectly still and perhaps you will,” 
said Peggy, in an awed tone. “ Perhaps it was 
an angel who had wandered outside the gate of 
heaven.” 

cc Fudge ! ” exclaimed York, impatiently. cc An- 
gels would find some more appropriate spot 
to exercise their vocal organs than in Turner's 
pasture.” 

cc Who could it have been ? ” persisted Peggy ; 
<c a siren? They only sing on rocks by the sea- 
shore.” 

“ Oh, it was a human being fast enough,” 
York declared. <c Is n’t there some one stopping 
1 1 


SWEET PEGGY 


here from the city ? I did n't suppose even 
Cathance would escape the summer visitor." 

“Yes, we have a lady boarder," Peggy replied. 

“ There, that is it," York declared. £C Who is 
she ? " 

“ Her name is Nelson," Peggy replied. “ I 
don’t know what her first name is ; the initials on 
her trunk are C. B. Do you suppose it can be 
Clementina ? " and Peggy’s brown eyes looked 
innocently into York’s. 

a Caroline Brown probably," that young man 
replied. cc But can she sing ? If she possessed 
a voice like that, you ’d soon find it out." 

<c Not if she takes the woods to practise in," 
Peggy replied. cc She has been here only two 
days. If you don’t mind your foot, you might 
hobble over to the house and find out. It is n’t 
half a mile ; and if you should fall at her feet, 
it would be all the more interesting." 

“ Don’t make fun of my extravagant language," 
said York, making a grimace as his foot gave a 
twinge. “ That was really a glorious voice, 

Peggy-” _ 

“Was it?" and Peggy spoke as though only 
partly convinced. 

“ Yes, it was one of those rare tones that are 
a fortune in themselves. You know I ’m cracked 


A SPRING SONG 


on music, but I Ve got a sprained ankle that 
would knock the romance out of a troubadour,” 
and he heroically smothered a groan of pain. 

cc I 'll hurry and bring you help just as soon as 
I can,” said Peggy, her sympathies aroused by 
the sight of his white face. “ If you keep still 
while I ’m gone, the voice may come again ; ” and 
she sped away like a deer, leaving York to stretch 
himself out on the ground and groan over his 
pain to the silent woods. 


13 


Chapter II 
AN IDYL 




-Jr-ft-J- -f— ft- \-e g. o' 



F— 

1-J-I 

j 9 S- 11 


I T was a bright May morning such as makes 
the farmer rejoice as he turns over the warm 
brown earth, and leaves its heart exposed to 
the life-giving rays of the sun. Everywhere were 
movement and life. Out-of-doors the men were 
ploughing and planting; indoors the women 
were cleaning and dusting. It was the month 
when every good housekeeper in Cathance tied 
her head up in a white cloth and, seizing her 
household goods, bore them out to the yard, where 
they were treated to a vigorous pounding, dusting, 
and cleaning until the last year's dust was driven 
out, and not a moth nor microbe remained. On 
every clothes-line carpets were blowing ; on every 
fence rugs were airing ; windows were open in all 
the houses, and apparitions of women with their 
heads tied up and spotless white cloths in their 
hands were seen moving back and forth while 
rooms were redolent of soap and water. 

H 


AN IDYL 


The soul of Miss Mercy Palmer was sorely 
tried within her, for of all the women of Cathance 
she alone was not allowed to clean house. As 
she informed Eben Doolittle, it was truly scandal- 
ous. H ow should she ever hold up her head, 
should it become known that she had not given 
the domicile over which she presided a spring 
cleaning? How could she go to the sewing 
society, where house-cleaning would be the prin- 
cipal topic of conversation ? Even throwing her 
apron over her head and running out to gossip 
over a neighbor’s fence was denied her, for what 
was there to talk about but house-cleaning ? 

Mr. York was certainly a benighted being who 
had passed a neglected youth, with no religious 
instruction, or he would know that it was a 
crime to let the month of May pass without 
thoroughly overhauling one’s possessions. The 
house itself was a disgrace to a civilized neigh- 
borhood. The front room she declared to be 
enough to give her the ague, but Mr. York 
would have it just so, — no carpet; no curtains ; 
a great piano in the middle of the floor taking 
up all the room ; a packing case of books in one 
corner ; another of music close by ; and the fire- 
place all open instead of being filled with cedar ; 
as every well-regulated fireplace in Cathance 
i5 


SWEET PEGGY 


was at that season of the year. It was really 
more than feminine human nature could bear. 

While Mercy was venting her wrath in the 
kitchen, the ungrateful object of her attentions was 
stretched out on a comfortable old couch in an 
angle between the south and west windows. Gaz- 
ing straight before him, he could see the deep blue 
waters of Lake Cathance guarded by the rugged 
mountain-peaks whose steep sides were dressed 
in different tints of green, and broken at the base 
with coves and inlets on whose white pebbly 
beaches the water lapped with gently even motion. 
Turning his head toward the south window, he 
gazed out over a vista of green fields sloping 
down to the old gray farmhouse in the hollow, 
with its numerous barns and out-buildings, the 
property of Farmer Turner, the most influential 
citizen of Cathance. Skirting the fields was the 
white country road, rising gently toward the hill 
on which his ancestral mansion stood ; the old 
farmhouse he had fitted up for a summer refuge. 
Separating the road from the fields was a low, 
irregular stone wall almost buried from sight by 
a tangled mass of blackberry, raspberry, and wild 
rose bushes. Seated on this, like a monarch on 
his throne, was Eben Doolittle, his man-of-all- 
work, smoking a short clay pipe and superintend- 
16 


AN IDYL 


ing young John Thompson who was hired to do 
the ploughing because Eben’s back could not 
stand the strain of hard work. 

It was certainly a picture that would have 
soothed and pleased any man except one confined 
to the house with a sprained ankle. York had 
reached that state where patience, never a very 
plenteous article with him, had ceased to be a 
virtue. He had exhausted all his resources. He 
had read till he hated the sight of books ; smoked 
till he made himself sick ; played solitaire and 
practised until even his beloved music failed to 
charm him. This morning he was reduced to 
sulking, and watching with a sardonic grin one 
man doing what another man was paid for. 

While he was watching, the picture was en- 
hanced by the addition of another object to the 
group. A slender girl, carrying a pail, came from 
the old gray farmhouse in the hollow, and, cross- 
ing the field by a well-worn path, paused by the 
long brown strip which had been torn up by order 
of Eben Doolittle, who declared that the field 
must be laid down new. The young man stopped 
his plough, and, throwing one arm over his horse’s 
back, stood talking to the girl while Eben on the 
wall smoked on, no doubt admiring the rustic scene 
with the two youthful figures in the foreground. 


SWEET PEGGY 


A pretty girl was Peggy, with wavy, crinkly 
brown hair, big velvety brown eyes, a ripe 
mouth arched like a Cupid’s bow and showing a 
set of even white teeth, a rose and brown com- 
plexion, a dimpled chin, and full white throat. 
It was a pleasant face to gaze into, and the youth 
with the plough looked, nothing loath, while the 
horse stretched out his long neck trying to reach 
the tall grass which the plough had not yet turned 
under. But if Eben enjoyed the picture, the man 
watching from the south window evidently did 
not, for a frown darkened his brow, as he twisted 
himself over into a new position. 

“ I’ll make a lot working my ancestral acres,” 
he muttered, — <c hiring one man to sit on the 
fence and smoke, and another one to flirt with every 
pretty girl that comes along. I wonder if John 
Thompson is paid by the hour or by the job. 
Peggy Turner is too bright and pretty a girl to 
throw herself away on that lout, but 1 suppose to her 
he is an Adonis. She might be made something 
of, if any one had a mind to take the trouble. 
If Leo should see her now ! She is probably 
worth a dozen of that Daisy she has been raving 
over for the last year.” 

Here a new thought suggested itself, and he 
reached over and gave the bell on the stand beside 


AN IDYL 


him a sharp ring. The summons was answered 
by Mercy, who came in and looked down upon 
the occupant of the couch with the same expres- 
sion she had worn ever since he had told her that 
if she cleaned the house it would be at her own 
peril. It was the look of misunderstood woman- 
hood. 

“Well, Mr. York, what do you want now ? ” 
she inquired. “ You told me the last time I was 
in that if I spoke to you again you would n’t 
answer for the consequences.” 

“ Phillis, you must be of a gentle and forgiving 
disposition, and not lay my harsh words up against 
me,” said he, meekly. 

“ How many times must I tell you, Mr. York, 
that my name is Mercy, not Phillis,” said she, in 
the resigned tone of one who knows it is useless 
to complain. 

“ But Phillis suits you so much better ; ” and 
York murmured with half-closed eyes : 

(t ‘ . . . Herbs and other country messes. 

Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses.’ ** 


“ I should think, Mr. York,” exclaimed his 
handmaiden, indignantly, “ that you might have 
some respect for my feelin’s. It’s bad enough 
to keep house for a single man without havin’ 
l 9 


SWEET PEGGY 


him talk such stuff. What would the neighbors 
say if they knew you called me such names ? ” 

“ I won’t tell them if you won’t,” said he, 
soothingly. 

“ I know what Pauliny Lowell and Phoebe 
Howe say as it is,” she declared ; “ but I don’t 
care for either of ’em ; they ’d both jump at the 
chance if they could get it.” 

“ No doubt,” York assented ; “ I ’m so patient 
under affliction I should think all the ladies in 
Cathance would envy you, Phillis.” 

“What do you want now?” she demanded. 
“ I know what ’s proper and ain’t a-goin’ to let 
you keep me here payin’ me compliments.” 

“ Peggy Turner is coming here some time 
before the day is done,” he replied ; “ she is 
down in the field now. When she comes I want 
you to send her in here.” 

“Now, Mr. York, is that proper?” asked 
Mercy, pursing up her lips. “ She ’s a young 
girl, and you ’re a single man.” 

“ Rubbish ! ” exclaimed York, impatiently. 
“You do as I say, and don’t you put any foolish 
notions into Peggy’s head.” 

“ But if you talk to her as you do to me,” 
Mercy persisted. 

“Oh, you needn’t worry,” York retorted; 


20 


AN IDYL 


“ she is hearing enough of that down there in the 
field. You can go now and amuse yourself 
washing the lilac bushes and dusting the wood- 
pile. Be sure you send Peggy in when she 
comes,” he called after her, as she beat an indig- 
nant retreat. 

In due course of time his orders were carried 
out, and Peggy appeared in the doorway. 

“ Come in and sit down,” said York, pointing 
to a comfortable old easy-chair opposite the 
couch. “ Why have n’t you been to see me ? ” 
he added reproachfully, as the girl seated herself 
with her back to the western window. “When 
you find a wounded knight in the woods and help 
rescue him, you might at least come and inquire 
how he is getting on.” 

“ I did n’t suppose you would care for any 
other female society when you have Mercy,” said 
Peggy, demurely. 

“ I confess that Phillis has charms that would 
soothe a savage breast,” said he, gravely, “ and she 
can certainly minister to a foot diseased ; but there 
are certain things about Phillis one might wish 
different. She puts her teeth in her pocket when 
she eats, and her hair is brown in the morning 
and black in the afternoon. Can you account 
for that ? ” 


21 


SWEET PEGGY 


“You ought to be ashamed, Mr. York,” said 
Peggy, indignantly, “ to make fun of the poor 
old thing the way you do.” 

“ Was I making fun ? ” asked York, innocently. 
“ I thought I was merely telling you some of the 
interesting details of my domestic life.” 

“ You know that you do make fun of her and 
right to her face, too,” said Peggy, earnestly. 
“ For my part, I pity those forlorn old maids. 
There are so many of them here in Cathance — 
Phoebe Howe and Pauline Lowell, who live in 
the same house and quarrel all the time, and 
poor Grace Bradford — if you should make fun 
of her I 'd never speak to you again.” 

“ I never will,” York hastened to vow. “ From 
what I saw out in the field a while ago you 
evidently intend to take warning from these old 
maids and avoid their fate.” 

“ Now, Mr. York, if you are going to be dis- 
agreeable, I won't stay ; ” and Peggy made a move 
to leave the old easy-chair. 

“ I 'll change the subject,” said York, hastily. 
“ Let us gossip about our neighbors. What have 
you learned about your lady boarder ? ” 

“ It was to ask about her that you sent for me 
to come in,” declared Peggy, settling down again. 

“Perhaps it was,” York confessed candidly. 

22 


AN IDYL 


“ That voice that I heard in the woods decidedly 
interested me. What have you found out about 
the boarder ? Does she sing ? ” 

“ Somebody was making dreadful noises up- 
stairs this morning,” replied Peggy, — C£ singing 
c Ah, ah, ah/ ail up and down the scale. It 
almost sent the cat into a fit.” 

“ She was practising,” exclaimed York, in de- 
light. <c Even those divine voices are partly art. 
It was she, then, beyond a doubt. What is she 
like ? Is she young or old ? ” 

“ She is older than I am,” replied Peggy, slowly. 

<c Of course ; you are but a child yet, Peggy.” 

“ I ’m twenty,” declared the girl, drawing her- 
self up proudly. 

“ Probably the lady boarder is twenty-two or 
three. She may have reached the advanced age of 
twenty-five.” 

“ Yes, she has,” Peggy declared. cc She is 
every bit of twenty-five and looks older.” 

“ Have you learned her first name ? ” 

“ Yes, it is n't Clementina at all ; it is just plain 
ordinary Charlotte.” 

“ That is rather a quencher to romance,” York 
admitted ; “ but, never mind, she can sing like an 
angel. What is she like ? Is she tall or short ; 
dark or fair ? ” 


23 


SWEET PEGGY 


“ She is tall and thin,” announced Peggy* 

“ Oh, Peggy, Peggy ! ” exclaimed York. “ I ’m 
afraid you are not a fair judge of female beauty. 
You should have said tall and slender. Of course 
she has golden hair, blue eyes, and a divine 
complexion.” 

“ Her eyes are blue or gray,” said Peggy, her 
mental vision the face and form of their lady 
boarder. “ Her hair is n’t its natural color, I 
know ; it looks bleached .” 

“ Oh, Peggy, you grow worse and worse,” 
sighed York. “ Why do you spoil all my delu- 
sions ? A creature with that divine voice can’t have 
bleached hair unless something about Cathance af- 
fects the ladies’ tresses. Does the fair Charlotte 
undergo mysterious changes like Phillis ? ” 

“ No, it is always the same,” said Peggy, cc and 
grew on her head, but not the color that it is now, 
I am sure.” 

“ When shall I see this mysterious lady ? ” 
asked York. “ Would she come and sing to an 
interesting invalid, do you think ? ” 

“You are not an interesting invalid,” declared 
Peggy. “ Mercy says you are as cross as two 
sticks.” 

“ I ’d be patient as a lamb if an angel would 
come and sing for me,” he declared. 

z 4 


AN IDYL 


“ You might sing one little song yourself and 
Peggy glanced at the piano covered with music 
of all kinds. 

“ It hurts my foot to sing,” said York, for 
which statement he received a withering glance 
from Peggy's great brown eyes ; “ but if the lady 
boarder should feel inclined to try some duets, 
you could sit and listen.” 

“ Indeed ! ” and Peggy scornfully tossed her 
head. 

“ Does this mysterious singer ever walk out 
for her health ? ” asked York. “ I should like 
to see her and judge of the bleached hair for 
myself.” 

“ She goes up to the post-office every night 
after tea to mail a letter. They must be to her 
lover ; she would n’t write to any one else so 
regularly,” she added mischievously. 

<f Of course you would imagine a romance,” 
retorted York. “ You naturally take an interest 
in lovers. Let me tell you that you must n’t 
cross the field while John is ploughing, because, 
as a landed proprietor, I can’t lie here and see 
myself swindled. John took that field to plough 
by the day, and the number of hours he stands 
talking with you is money out of my pocket.” 

“ I won’t stay here another minute,” cried 

25 


SWEET PEGGY 


Peggy, and, springing out of her chair, she made 
for the door, pausing only long enough to 
announce : “ If you watch long enough you can 
see her to-night. ,, 

The next York saw of -the young lady she was 
walking down the road swinging her empty pail, 
not deigning a glance in the direction of the 
field where John was still ploughing. 

York did not forget Peggy’s parting hint, and 
soon after supper established himself in the west 
window, which faced the road. The sun was 
slowly sinking toward Suncook, whose soft gray 
summit stood out in bold relief against a sky of 
flaming crimson changing gradually to brilliant 
purple and gold. Everything was bathed in a 
soft mellow light, and across the lake lay a golden 
sheen like a pathway leading to the jewelled gates 
which were flung open wide that the sun might 
pass through. The maples by the roadside, 
robed in their delicate new green leaves, stood 
motionless and still, while above the mass of 
living green the tasselled top of a solitary elm 
was tinted a bright gold by the setting sun. The 
birds in their nests outside the window were 
singing their evening song, and from distant tree- 
tops came the echo of the same refrain as they 
united in their angelus : 

26 


AN IDYL 


ri 

H- j 

» -r-J' j ' 



( 

W=l 

i p 0 * — J ~V 




P - 1 




An - ge - lus, An - ge - lus, An - ge - lus, An - ge - lus, 


ri 

H 1 

11 

/ 

ft..-. -f" h ~ \ x - a 

K ,s h > 

V 

12 J A N 

j H r N N 11 


’ ^ 0 -r zi 9 • ^ zi 

An - ge - lus, An - ge - lus, An - ge - lus, An - ge - lus. 


York sat by the window watching and smoking 
until the glowing sky faded ; the stars came out 
one by one ; the lake grew dark with mystery ; 
and in the fields the fireflies lighted their fairy 
lanterns as they sprang nimbly from one grass- 
blade to another. But no beautiful lady, in soft 
trailing garments, passed slowly along the way. 
As he sat gazing dreamily out over the lake, 
York imagined how she would look. In spite 
of Peggy’s description he knew that the owner of 
that wonderful voice must be tall, white, slender, 
graceful as a lily, with pale gold hair and soft, 
dreamy eyes. He even fancied what she would 
wear. It would be some soft, clinging material 
of palest gray, and wrapped about her shoulders 
would be a silken scarf the shade of that shred 
of cloud hanging over Suncook. But no such 
beautiful lady passed his window. Pauline Lowell, 
prim and precise in her black dress, with her 
shade hat tied down over her smooth black hair, 
went down the hill ; and not far behind her came 
2 7 


SWEET PEGGY 


Phoebe Howe, taking her short, scant, calico skirt 
up on her heels with every step ; her old shaker 
on her head; her cat under one arm, her empty 
milk-pail on the other. She was going to Mrs. 
Turner’s for her nightly half-pint, and York 
heard her call out cheerily to Eben, who was down 
at the gate: “Has Mr. York got enough of 
sprained ankles yet ? Better keep a sharper look- 
out next time.” 

These two were the only women who passed 
until just at dusk, when he caught sight of a thin 
female figure whose black bonnet and gray hair 
proved that she had no connection with the lady 
boarder. York threw away the end of his cigar 
in disgust, and went to bed undecided whether to 
consider Peggy a fraud or himself a fool. 


28 


Chapter III 
VESPERS 


I T was a June twilight. The nodding plumes 
of the purple and white lilacs, of which every 
yard in Cathance possessed a clump, made the 
air heavy with fragrance. The after-glow had 
faded ; the bird notes were hushed, and over and 
around all brooded the sacred stillness of a Sab- 
bath evening. The cracked bell on the little church 
had long ago ceased to waken the echoes sleeping 
among the hills. The people were at their even- 
ing \yorship, and the stars were coming out, 
hanging their golden lights in the soft dark vault 
of heaven. 

Peggy Turner, in her white muslin dress, came 
out of her front door and wandered slowly up 
the road, dangling her hat in her hand. 

cf Mercy and Eben are both at church,” mused 
she. “He’s all alone, and I know he'll sing. I 
have n't heard him once, not once. If he was n't 
29 


SWEET PEGGY 


so mean and horrid, I ’d ask him, but as it is I 
won’t give him the pleasure of being hateful and 
refusing.” 

The old York farmhouse stood like a shadow 
in the pale June twilight. The windows were all 
open and dark, so that Peggy dared not approach 
very near, lest her white dress should betray her 
presence. The friendly clump of purple lilacs 
would shield her from sight from the front win- 
dows, and, dropping down on the soft grass out- 
side the low white fence, she kept perfectly still, 
listening, while the purple flowers nodded their 
heads toward her, and tossed down sweet kisses 
from their fragrant lips. All was still. Nothing 
stirred but the breeze ; nothing moved but the 
fireflies darting from blade to blade in the field 
on the other side of the stone wall. The road, 
winding farther on up the hill, looked very white 
in the pale light ; and the field on the other side, 
sloping down toward the lake, seemed as if 
covered with hoar-frost, so starred was it with 
white daisies. 

Suddenly the silence was broken by the sweet, 
rippling notes of a piano. Peggy gave a little 
rustle of satisfaction, and announced to the listen- 
ing lilacs : “ I knew he would. It is such a pure- 
toned piano, and I have just longed to hear it. 

30 


VESPERS 

Now he is going to sing,” and she held her breath 
to listen. 

“ Ave Maria ! ” 

The long full notes rose, strong and melo- 
dious, sustained by a beautiful baritone voice 
of great power and compass. The cadence died 
away, and above the rippling accompaniment of 
the piano came the matchless strain : 

* * Ratia lena, 

Dominus tecum/ * 

The girl behind the lilac bushes clasped her 
hands tightly together. It was a beautiful vesper 
service, there alone with the flowers in the sweet 
June twilight; the air vibrating with heaven-born 
melody. 

** Sometimes a-dropping from the sky 
I heard the skylark sing,** 

she murmured, as the last “ Ave ” died slowly 
away until, like a whispered breath, it was lost 
in the fragrant air. 

Then all was still again. 

“ Won’t he sing once more ? ” Peggy implor- 
ingly inquired of the lilacs, who only tossed their 
heads doubtfully in reply. 

“ He might,” she murmured. “ It was even 
3 1 


SWEET PEGGY 


finer than I expected. Who would believe he 
could sing like that ? ” 

But though the girl strained her ears to listen, 
no sound broke the stillness. 

“ Why, Peggy, is that you ? ” 

The new-comer made no noise as he came down 
the hill. The girl turned round with a start and 
a frown. 

“ Where did you come from ? ” she demanded. 
<c Why ar’n’t you at church ? ” 

“ I went, but you was n't there, so I got up and 
came out,” said he, simply. 

Peggy gave her shoulders a little shake and 
turned her attention to the house. She hoped 
the young man would move on, but instead he 
seated himself on the grass beside her, at which 
she sprang suddenly to her feet. 

“ I 'm going home,” said she shortly. 

As she started off down the hill, John Thomp- 
son moved along at her side. It made no differ- 
ence to him where he went, as long as he was 
with Peggy. 

“ Why did n't you go to meeting ? ” he in- 
quired. 

“ Because I knew they would sing, ( I 'm Living 
in Canaan Now,’ and c My Sins are all Taken 
Away, ' ” she replied. “ I went last Sunday 
3 2 


X 


VESPERS 


evening, and they sang, ‘ I Will Pour Water on 
Him that is Thirsty ; * I thought I should go 
frantic.” 

“They sang that to-night,” said John. “I 
think it is a good tune. What is the matter 
with it? ” 

“ Everything,” said Peggy, with decision ; “ it 
is sacrilegious, irreverent, profane, and makes 
a burlesque of worship. I think such hymns 
should be forbidden by law.” 

“ They are the ones in the new hymn-book,” 
said John. “They are going to meet some time 
this week and learn some new ones. They asked 
me to get you to come.” 

“ I hope you told them you wouldn’t do any- 
thing of the kind,” retorted Peggy. 

“No, I did n’t, for I wish you would go,” said 
the young man, looking at her wistfully. “ Per- 
haps you ’ll like ’em better when you get used to 
’em.” 

“Never;” and Peggy’s little foot went down 
on the dusty road. 

“What hymns do you like?” asked John, 
vaguely thinking that he might be able to make 
a revision in the church music to please his ex- 
acting lady. 

“ Oh,” said Peggy, her voice growing more 

3 33 


SWEET PEGGY 


gentle, “ there are so many beautiful hymns that 
you never hear in Cathance, John. If they 
would only sing, £ Day is Dying in the West,' or 
c Softly Now the Light of Day/ on a night like 
this, I would go to church, but I could n’t sit and 
listen to that thirsty hymn. If they only realized 
the difference good hymns would make in their 
service ! Did you ever hear any one sing ‘ Ave 
Maria/ John ? ” 

“Aver Mareer?” repeated John, vaguely. 
He hated to have Peggy talk about music and 
poetry, — things that made her seem so far away 
from him. 

“Yes,” said Peggy, enthusiastically. “ It is 
one of the most beautiful things ; and when it is 
sung, and well sung, it is as good as a vesper 
service.” 

“Yes, I dare say,” said poor John, vaguely. 
“ Will you go to the candy-pull Tuesday night ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, I suppose so. Will you come 
in?” 

As they halted at the gate, John looked wist- 
fully at the old porch all hung with woodbine. 

“ It is so pleasant, can’t we stay out here ? ” he 
asked. “ It will be almost as good as a vesper 
service, won’t it ? ” 

“ Oh, it is too damp,” Peggy declared. “ I 
34 


VESPERS 

should get cold, for my dress is nothing but 
muslin.” 

“ It’s no damper now than it was ten minutes 
ago,” said John, boldly; “ and your porch is as 
dry as the ground up by Mr. York’s.” 

Poor fellow ! he knew that Farmer Turner was 
in the sitting-room, and he did not want to spend 
the rest of the evening discussing the crops with 
Peggy’s father, but the girl was adamant. 

“ Mother won’t like it at all if she comes home 
from church and finds me on the steps with this 
thin dress on,” she declared. c< She does n’t 
know that I have been sitting on the ground.” 

John meekly suggested shawls, capes, and 
other wraps, with the vague notion in his head 
that it is the hero’s place to take off his coat and 
wrap it about the heroine’s shoulders under such 
circumstances, but Peggy nipped all such efforts 
toward gallantry promptly in the bud by going 
directly into the house. 

The next day, Mercy Palmer declared to her 
friend and colleague, Phoebe Howe, that Mr. York 
was so cross there was no doing anything with 
him. Nothing suited him. He found fault at 
dinner because his coffee was too strong, and at 
supper because his tea was too weak. He com- 
plained that the steak was tough, and was so cross 
35 


SWEET PEGGY 


all the afternoon that Mercy declared it to be a 
wonder her head was n’t taken off every time she 
went near him. In fact, York had discovered 
that a month of sprained ankle was more than 
any man could bear. His foot, the doctor told 
him, was doing nicely, and would soon be well if 
he would keep it quiet ; but York would keep us- 
ing it, and every time it refused to do duty prop- 
erly went down to the verge of despair, — declared 
he was lamed for life, and woe to the man, woman, 
or child who then approached him ! 

On this particular Monday morning, he had 
tried to walk out to the field to interview Eben, 
and finding himself only able to get as far as the 
well, with its long, old-fashioned sweep, he had 
been in a savage mood for the rest of the day. 
Evening found him stretched out in the dark on 
the old couch. He had forbidden Mercy to 
bring in a light, for there was nothing he could do ; 
the sight of books made him ill ; cards and music 
exasperated him ; so in disgust Mercy had retired 
from the field, and throwing her apron over her 
head, had gone to pour her woes into Phoebe 
Howe’s sympathetic ear. 

Left to himself, York fell into a doze from 
which he was awakened by a strain of melody 
which caused him to sit erect, his senses all on the 
3 6 


VESPERS 


alert, his listlessness forgotten. It was a voice — 
the voice — not many rods away, singing softly. 
From out of the pale darkness came the music : 

“ Ave Sanctissima ! 

’T is nightfall on the sea ! 

Ora pro nobis ! 

Our souls rise to thee.” 

York hardly dared stir lest he should startle 
the singer and drive her away. Though he still 
joked and questioned Peggy, he had lately be- 
gun to doubt the singer's identity and to believe 
that he had been the subject of a delusion that 
day in the woods, for though he had watched 
night after night, no beautiful lady passed by at 
twilight. But this was real. It was the same 
sweet contralto, — the same pure, rich tones that 
he had heard before, singing now with veiled 
power: 

“ Ora pro nobis! 

The wave must soothe our sleep ; 

Ora, mater, ora ! 

Thou star of the deep ! ” 

As the last note died away, York listened for 
some sign, of the singer's presence, which could 
not be far away, but all was still. As before, the 
voice seemed to have fallen on his ear from some 
region unknown. He was just meditating a raid 
37 


SWEET PEGGY 

out under his window when again the voice broke 
on his ear, this time with a different strain. In a 
low, mischievous tone came the song : 

(( I gave her kisses one, kisses one, kisses one, 

I gave her kisses one, kisses one, 

I gave her kisses one. 

And she said I ’d just begun. 

So I kept a-kissing on, on, and on. 

“ I gave her kisses two, kisses two, kisses two, 

I gave her kisses two, kisses two, 

I gave her kisses two. 

And she hoped I was n’t through. 

So I kept a-kissing on, on, and on.” 

Forgetting his lame foot, York made a spring 
toward the window, but it was of no use. A sharp 
twinge reminded him of his ankle, and, knocking 
over his crutch in the dark, a rustle in the bushes 
told him that the bird had flown. He reached 
the window just in time to see the flutter of a 
white dress disappear round the corner of the 
house. Oh for two good feet to leap out and 
follow this tantalizing singer! He leaned out 
with an insane idea of making the attempt in spite 
of consequences when a familiar but stifled giggle 
met his ear. Peggy was with her, of course. It 
was some mad escapade of hers ; and it suddenly 
occurred to York that it would not be romantic 
38 


VESPERS 


in the eyes of a third person to see him limping 
out after the beautiful singer. Peggy would 
make fun of him afterward, so he would lie low 
and wait. If it were not for his confounded 
foot ! 

The cc confounded foot,” by the way, was ach- 
ing like ten sprained ankles in one, putting an 
end to romance at the rate of twenty twinges a 
minute. Nothing more was heard from the 
singer, and York was glad to crawl back to the 
couch, where he laid himself down with a groan. 
When Mercy returned she found her patient 
worse than ever, and after inconsistently berating 
her for leaving him in the dark, he told her to 
get hot water for his foot at once, or he would 
not be responsible for the consequences. 


v 


39 


Chapter IV 
VIVACE 


r-e-gft"- ~ 


; • i 0 * 0 . „ n 

T/T - ~ 0 r ~ n a 1 r • „ 0 r r 1 J r r 11 

im a rj. ^7 



t S I ^-ss J T i 


J= --- ^ u 


T HE next morning found York on the 
old couch, looking out of the south 
window over the sloping green fields to 
where a girl, in a white linen sunbonnet with 
coquettish pink bows, was making long swaths in 
the tall grass, stooping down now and then to 
transfer something from the ground to the little 
wicker basket on her arm. York watched her 
patiently with a little sparkle in his eye. He 
had given his much-tried housekeeper but little 
trouble that morning. He was perfectly willing 
to rest his foot and watch Peggy. Her gyrations 
would bring her in time up to the house. 

cc She is dying to hear what I Ve got to say 
about last night,” he remarked to himself. “ I 
wonder why the singer never shows herself? I 
40 


VIVACE 


have watched the road and that farmhouse until 
it is a wonder I’m not cross-eyed. Until last 
night I thought Peggy was fooling me, but that 
was re air 

The white sunbonnet kept on bobbing among 
the green, never turning in the direction of 
the house, until the watcher became impatient. 
Finally it disappeared over the stone wall, and 
soon Peggy came round the corner of the house, 
swinging her basket on her arm, a great bunch 
of long-stemmed buttercups stuck into her belt. 

“ Come in here, Peggy ; I want you,” called 
York from the window. 

In a few minutes Peggy presented herself in 
the door, and York pointed out the old easy-chair 
opposite the couch. 

“ I want to have a very serious conversation 
with you, Peggy,” he gravely began. 

Peggy folded her hands over the handle of her 
basket and looked meek. 

“ Do you know that you have been trampling 
down my grass ? ” said York, sternly. “ I have 
been watching you for three quarters of an hour. 
That is my best mowing field, and I can see the 
tracks you have made in it from here.” 

cc Eben told me I might pick the strawberries,” 
said she. cc He said I could n’t hurt the grass 
4 1 


SWEET PEGGY 

any ; if I were careful I might step between the 
blades.” 

“ I see,” said York, eying her gravely, “ that 
Eben was n’t proof against that white sunbonnet. 
Those pink bows probably finished him. Now I 
am case-hardened ; ravishing white sunbonnets 
and coquettish pink bows won’t console me for 
the spoiling of my grass.” 

“ I was getting the berries for you,” said Peggy, 
in a hurt tone. “ They are very nice ; ” and pick- 
ing up a plump berry on the point of a hat-pin 
she daintily conveyed it to her mouth. 

“That’s a delicate attention,” remarked York. 
“I didn’t know you cared so much for me, 

Peggy-” 

<c Oh, I was going to ask you to buy them,” 
said the girl, still nibbling her fruit. 

“What! buy my own berries?” exclaimed 
York. “ That ’s cheek.” 

“Yes,” continued Peggy; “the Bagley boys 
pick our strawberries, then come to the door and 
ask mother to buy them. She pays fifteen cents 
a pound. Strawberries are high, but it is worth 
that to pick them.” 

“ What do you want of money ? ” asked York, 
enjoying the sight of the piquant face framed in 
the white sunbonnet ; “ a butterfly like you ? ” 

4 2 


VIVACE 


cc I ’m not a butterfly,” she declared ; Cf I ’m a 
hard-working young woman, and I want money 
to take lessons in — in Battenberg work.” 

“ Noble ambition ! ” exclaimed York. cc I Ml 
help you all I can, though I don ’t think there 
will be many of those strawberries left to buy. 
I Ml pay you fifty cents for the hulls — all I seem 
likely to get — if you Ml agree to bring your lady 
boarder up every night to sing to me.” 

“ Do you think she sings well ? ” asked Peggy, 
surveying him over the lid of her basket as she 
took a peep inside. 

“ Well, rather,” he admitted. “ Why did you 
run oflF so ? ” 

“ She thought it was n’t proper to stay longer, 
for you have n’t been introduced, you know.” 

“Why can’t you introduce us?” he asked. 
“ Where does she keep herself, Peggy, that I 
never see her ? ” 

“ She sits in her room and does Battenberg,” 
Peggy replied. “ She does stacks of it ; I think 
she must be going to be married.” 

“ Peggy, you ’re a fraud,” declared York. 
“ Until last night I had made up my mind that 
there was c no sich a person,’ but that voice con- 
vinced me that she really exists.” 

“ How mean of you to doubt me ! ” pouted 
43 


SWEET PEGGY 


P eg gy. cc I had almost made up my mind to let 
you have these strawberries for ten cents, but now 
I shall not, since you think me capable of invent- 
ing a lady boarder.” 

“ You could n’t invent that voice,” declared 
York. “ If only I had two good feet, I would go 
down to your house and see with my own eyes. 
Confound it!” and twisting himself over on his 
side, York gave the sofa pillow a resounding 
whack. 

“ It is too bad,” said Peggy, sympathetically. 
“ You have been tied up here six weeks, and these 
June days are so lovely. I should die if I had 
to stay in the house.” 

“Don’t I look pale and interesting?” he 
asked. 

“You are thin. Mercy says you will wear her 
to skin and bones,” she added wickedly. “Why 
don’t you ride out ? ” 

“ I would if some young lady would ask me,” 
he retorted. 

“ Why don’t you ask the young lady ? ” she 
returned. “ That would be more proper.” 

“ I want to wait until I don’t have to hobble 
on one leg,” he replied. “You can hardly expect 
me to feel like asking a young lady to ride with me 
when I can’t help her in and out of the carriage.” 

44 


VIVACE 


“You are thinking of the lady boarder,” 
Peggy replied. “ But you can go with me. I 
don’t need any one to help me in and out of the 
carriage. To-morrow I am going to take some 
mat rags up to Grace Bradford, and you can go 
with me if you like.” 

“ I would be delighted,” he declared. 

“ You may go only on one condition,” said 
Peggy, looking at him sharply. 

“ I submit,” said he, meekly. “ Name your 
conditions.” 

“ That you sing for her.” 

“ Oh, confound it ! ” exclaimed York, twisting 
over on his back again. “ What do you want 
me to sing for ? ” 

“ Grace and her mother never heard any one 
sing as you do,” said Peggy, earnestly, “and they 
would enjoy it so much.” 

“Hadn’t the lady boarder better go?” he 
asked insinuatingly. 

“She is going to Greenville to-morrow.” 

“ And could n’t the mat rags wait another 
day ? ” 

“ No,” said Peggy, decidedly, “ they can’t ; be- 
sides, you mustn’t think I love to play goose- 
berry.” 

“ I should never expect such a thing of you, 
45 


SWEET PEGGY 


Peggy,” York declared. cc You look much more 
like a strawberry than you do like a gooseberry.” 

“ But you will sing ? ” she urged. 

“ Oh, yes, I ’ll warble like a nightingale,” he 
promised, “ and you will bring the lady boarder 
to sing under my window again to-night. I will 
have a bouquet ready if I know you are coming.” 

“ I ’m going to a candy-pull,” Peggy ‘ an- 
nounced. 

“ And Miss Nelson, is she going too ? ” he 
asked, his face falling. 

“No, but do you suppose she would come 
here without me to chaperone her ? ” asked 
Peggy, with a face as scandalized as Mercy’s own. 

“ O Peggy, what a little fraud you are ! ” he 
exclaimed. <c If it were n’t for the evidence of 
my ears, I would believe you are fooling me.” 

“ I think you are mean,” she pouted. “ I ’m 
not going to stay another minute. Here, I don’t 
believe there are fifteen cents’ worth of these 
strawberries, so I ’ll give them to you ; ” and drop- 
ping her basket on the couch beside him, Peggy 
vanished from the room. 

The next morning was done in gray. A warm, 
gray sky tinged with pale yellow, a still, gray 
lake, and dark, motionless trees. The clouds 
seemed resting on the bold summit of old Hoary- 
46 


VIVACE 


Head, and Suncook’s gray ledges appeared to 
melt into the sky. Sound travelled far in the 
still air, and the voices of the men in the field 
and the tinkle of the distant cow-bell came melo- 
diously to York’s ear as he sat in the south 
window smoking while waiting for Peggy. 

Promptly at nine o’clock she came driving old 
Bet, a sure-footed steed used to mountain roads, 
the mat rags in the back of the stout wagon. 
Peggy was in dainty array, consisting of rose- 
colored shirt waist with white collar and cuffs, a 
white duck skirt, and a creation of chiffon and 
blush roses on her brown hair. As she drew 
rein at the gate, Mercy appeared in the door 
wiping her floury hands on her apron ready to 
superintend the departure. 

cc It ’s goin’ to rain, and you ’ve got on your 
best hat,” said she, surveying Peggy’s get-up with 
disapproval. 

c< It won’t rain,” the girl declared. “ It is 
going to be one of those gray days that I just 
love. See how warm the air is ; just like velvet.” 

“ Your ma is dretful careless,” Mercy de- 
clared, “ to let you wear your best clothes and 
run the risk of spoilin’ ’em likely as not. The 
wind has hung to the north all the mornin’, and 
the clouds are a-gatherin’ round Hoary-Head.” 

47 


SWEET PEGGY 


ct Here, Phillis,” said York, appearing on his 
crutch in the doorway, “just put my umbrella 
into the wagon; we'll take care of the hat.” 

Mercy obeyed, and followed York down to 
the gate, expostulating all the way because he 
would use his foot, which caused him strange 
grimaces of pain every time he put it to the 
ground. He climbed awkwardly into the wagon, 
then, when the umbrella was stowed away under 
the seat, bade Mercy adieu with uplifted hat, and 
taking the reins in his own hands drove off up 
the hill. 

“ That is cool ! ” exclaimed Peggy, indignantly. 
“ I thought you were going driving with me.” 

“ Oh, no,” he replied, “ you are going driving 
with me, and that is why you put on that hat.” 

“No such thing,” she retorted; “I put on 
this hat so that Grace might see it. She does n’t 
go anywhere to see things, and is so fond of what 
is bright and pretty that I always wear my best 
when I go there.” 

“ That is very sweet of you, Peggy,” replied 
York; “ but you ’ll let me enjoy the hat, won’t 
you ? Remember I ’m an object of charity, and 
also love pretty things.” 

Peggy only tossed her head and again de- 
manded her right to the reins, but York would 
48 


VIVACE 


not give them up, declaring he could not trust 
himself to feminine guidance with such a fiery 
steed as old Bet. They slowly wound up the 
hill. Halfway up the ascent they passed the 
establishment which was the joint property of 
Pauline Lowell and Phoebe Howe. It was a low 
white house whose long, sloping roof and small, 
diamond-paned windows gave it the appearance 
of a face with its brows drawn down over its eyes. 
Here the two maiden ladies lived, — one on either 
side of the front hall, which was in one sense 
debatable land, as both claimed it as private prop- 
erty, and were in constant dispute over the door- 
key. Miss Lowell was a lady of property to the 
amount of two thousand dollars which had been 
left her by an eccentric relative. She was troubled 
with nerves, neuralgia, and other feminine ills, 
and never exposed herself to the air of heaven 
without the fear of taking cold as a consequence. 

Phoebe Howe wrung her living from the bar- 
ren soil on her side of the house and the few hens 
which were such a source of annoyance to her 
housemate. She was always well, cheerful, and 
in the best of spirits. As Peggy and York drove 
up, they saw her in her garden at work with 
hoe and spade, arrayed in a short, scant gown of 
indigo blue which fell straight from her shoulders, 
49 


4 


SWEET PEGGY 


and on her head an old shaker bonnet with a 
faded brown cape. Her cat was frisking about 
her feet, and a speckled hen with a large flock of 
chickens was disporting herself not far away. At 
the sound of wheels Phoebe paused in her labors 
to greet the passers-by. 

“How d’ye do, Mr. York? glad to see you 
out,” said she, cheerfully. “ Well, Peggy, where 
are you bound in your best bunnet, — Grace Brad- 
ford’s ? Pauline ’s been wanting to send her some 
pieces for her quilt, and you can take ’em just as 
well as not. I ’ll tell her.” 

Into the house she ran, with the cat and two 
of the chickens at her heels, and soon returned 
with Pauline, who had a little gray shawl held 
down over her smooth hair, from which her pinched 
face peered curiously out at the new-comers. 

cc I want to know if you are goin’ out to Grace 
Bradford’s this cloudy day,” she demanded. “ It 
looks as though it would rain every minute.” 

cc Oh, it ain’t a-goin’ to rain,” interposed 
Phoebe, with a cheerful glance at the clouds; “ and 
if it does it won’t hurt ’em any ; they ’re neither 
sugar nor salt.” 

<f Yes, and they ’re young,” added Pauline, with 
a sentimental sigh. 

Receiving their instructions in regard to the 
5 ° 


VIVACE 


quilt pieces, they bade the ladies good-by, and 
York started old Bet on her journey once more. 
The road wound up higher and higher until at last 
the top of the long hill was reached, and opening 
before them was a narrow pass with a high ledge on 
each side crowned with hardy growth of spruce and 
fir. In the crevices of the ledge tiny plants, deli- 
cate ferns, and luxurious vines had found a foot- 
hold, festooning it with green. Some dwarfed elms 
and maples clung to its sides, stunted and mis- 
shapen for want of soil, but still beautiful. Hun- 
dreds of feet below them, at the foot of the ravine, 
lay the still, gray lake, reflecting the warm gray 
sky ; and on the top of the hill, in the heart of 
the ledge, whose gray sides towered protectingly 
above it, stood a white, square-built church, with 
a high belfry in which the cracked bell hung. 
This was always a fascinating place to York, and 
on bright summer days he often amused himself 
picturing the place as it must be in winter, when 
the storm-wind lashed the lake into fury and sent 
the snow whirling down through the ravine. 

Down one hill and up another climbed sure- 
footed old Bet all the way up the mountain. 
Sometimes the bald gray summit of Hoary- 
Head, up among the clouds, was before them ; 
sometimes on their left ; sometimes on their 
5i 


SWEET PEGGY 


right, or was left behind them altogether. Once 
the road skirted along a ledge. Above them 
towered the mountain, up into whose green re- 
treats they could gaze, while hundreds of feet 
below them was the lake. Only an old rail 
fence, half broken down, guarded the road ; and 
a shudder passed through York’s frame as he 
gazed down over the embankment, over the tan- 
gled growth and jagged, pointed rocks, and 
thought of the consequence of a false step. Yet 
men, as he knew, drove over that road on the 
darkest nights. 

They passed lonely farmhouses at irregular 
intervals, little clearings in the midst of the for- 
est ; and as old Bet was a well-known animal, 
women came out to the gate to exchange a word, 
and, stopping their work, men came out to the 
road to pass the time of day. For all of them 
Peggy had a word of greeting, a bit of gossip or 
news, and York when he was introduced was 
pleasant and cordial. About halfway to their 
destination they emerged from the woods onto the 
brow of a hill from which they could get a glimpse 
of the Pocamoonshine, the second of the chain 
of lakes which nestled among the mountains. 
It lay like a silver basin in the heart of the still 
green forest, and between it and the Cathance 
52 


VIVACE 


could be traced like a silver thread the Kwap- 
skitchwock, the stream which wound its way be- 
tween the two lakes, and in the old days was the 
thoroughfare of the Indians in their birch-bark 
canoes. 

The grand, silent scene lay wrapped in soft, 
gray light, — the mighty forests, towering moun- 
tains, silver stream, and sleeping lakes ; while 
over all brooded the warm, yellow-gray sky. 
Silent, majestic, and grand was the great world 
of nature ; the only moving thing in the picture 
was the horse and wagon standing out on the 
brow of the hill like a speck against the giant 
ledges. 


I 


53 


Chapter V 
ADAGIO 



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R. YORK,” said Peggy, suddenly^ 
“ do you know whom you are going 
to visit ? ” 


They had left the open and plunged once 
more into the forest. 

“ Why, I have an idea,” he replied, “ that it 
is a lady named Miss Grace Bradford. I have 
been wondering for the last half-hour what sort 
of women live alone in these wilds. They must 
be like the pioneer women that first came into 
the wilderness.” 

“They are not,” Peggy declared: “ they are 
gentle and refined, although they have to take 
care of their own stock, dig, plant, and plough. 

54 


ADAGIO 


Mr. York, I am going to tell you Grace’s story ; 
and if you don’t pity, respect, and admire her 
as you ought, I shall leave you right here on that 
rock until I come back.” 

“ I promise, I promise,” said York, meekly. 
“ Although I hold the reins, I don’t doubt that 
you would carry out your threat if I failed to 
come up to the mark. Tell your story ; I ’ll 
give it my most respectful attention.” 

“ Grace was a beautiful young girl and engaged 
to be married,” Peggy began earnestly. 

“ It promises to be romantic, at least,” York 
murmured, but she kept on without heeding 
him. 

“ The wedding day was set and the new house 
nearly ready, when, one night in the spring, they 
had a great brush fire at the Bradfords’, as we 
have every year when we take down the bankings 
round the house. The neighbors came from all 
around, and they were having a beautiful time 
dancing round the fire when a group of romping 
children ran up against Grace and pushed her 
over into it. She was horribly burned : face and 
hands, and every bit of her hair was taken off. 
They thought she would die, but she did n’t ; 
she got well, but was terribly disfigured for the 
rest of her life.” 


55 


SWEET PEGGY 


<c And the lover ?” asked York, decidedly 
interested. 

“ What do you think ? ” exclaimed Peggy. 
“ Left her ; would n’t marry her because her face 
was disfigured and her good looks spoiled ! 
Was n’t he a contemptible, mean-spirited cur?” 

“ Probably he was n’t worthy of her in the 
first place ; she is better off without him,” re- 
marked York. 

c< That is the way I should feel,” declared 
Peggy. “ I should hate him and be ashamed 
that I had ever loved him ; but I think Grace’s 
heart broke ; for hearts do break sometimes.” 

“ Do they ? ” inquired York. “ I ’m not very 
well versed in the nature of hearts.” 

(C Women’s hearts break; men’s don’t,” de- 
clared Peggy. 

“ Come, come,” interposed York, cc every man 
does n’t leave his sweetheart when something 
unfortunate happens. Yours would n’t, for if 
you lost every spear of your bonny brown hair 
and burnt your skin to parchment there would 
be enough of you left to keep a man awake.” 

But Peggy only tossed her head at this com- 
pliment. 

“ Grace is an angel,” said she: “too good for 
any mere common man. He went off and 
56 


ADAGIO 


married another woman, while she has lived on 
there, growing more beautiful in soul, and the 
house they built has crumbled to decay.” 

£C Alas for romance ! ” sighed York. cc I ’m 
sorry to have to call your attention to it, but do 
you see how purple-black those clouds are grow- 
ing that hang over the mountain ? I’m afraid it 
is going to rain, after all.” 

Peggy lifted her face to the gray sky, and re- 
ceived a splash on her nose. 

“ It is sprinkling,” she exclaimed. <c Oh, my 
hat ! ” 

She had it off in a twinkling ; and while York 
was getting out the umbrella, she tucked it away 
in the bottom of the wagon, carefully covering it 
with the robe. 

<c Ar’ n’t you afraid of your hair? ” asked York, 
looking at her uncovered head. “ The rain may 
take the curl out. Here, tie this down over it ; ” 
and he gravely produced his handkerchief. 

Tying the corners into knots, Peggy gleefully 
put it on, charging York to be careful and not 
put his foot into her hat. For the last mile that 
gentleman’s foot had been aching in a way that, 
had he been at home, would have elicited his 
liveliest groans and claimed all of Mercy’s time 
and attention. He was not sorry when they 
57 


SWEET PEGGY 


came in sight of a small gray house hardly dis- 
tinguishable from the sheltering ledge behind it, 
which Peggy informed him was their destination. 
The rain was pattering merrily on the umbrella 
as they drew rein at the gate, beside which was 
the usual clump of lilac bushes loaded with 
odorous purple blossoms. Two women came 
to the door at sound of the wheels, and, jumping 
lightly out of the wagon, Peggy flew up the path 
to greet them, leaving York to scramble out as 
best he could, with many grimaces of pain. 

Visits were so rare at this mountain home that 
they were a great treat, and these two received a 
most cordial welcome. As soon as the introduc- 
tions were over, Peggy remembered York's foot, 
and at the solicitation of his hostess he lay down 
on the comfortable old sofa beside the window 
which overlooked the valley, now full of silver 
mist and rain, through which gleamed the distant 
waters of the lake. 

Left to himself with his foot resting at ease, 
York had plenty of opportunity to regard the 
two women, who were making much of Peggy 
and the mat rags and quilt pieces. In spite of 
the girl's story Grace Bradford’s face was a shock 
to him. At first, with its great red scar and 
drawn, wrinkled skin, it repelled him ; but as he 
58 


* 

ADAGIO 


covertly watched her while she talked and listened 
to Peggy, he saw the eyes light, up, the tender 
smile come to the lips, and, catching a glimpse of 
the soul, his heart filled with a great pity. 

The mother, active and bustling, was anxious 
to hear all the news from the village, and, seated 
between the two, Peggy rattled off her budget 
while the warm rain fell softly outside and the 
scent of the lilacs came in through the open win- 
dow. The room in which they were showed that 
it was presided over by taste and refinement ; 
the gay rag carpet and drawn rugs lighted it 
up with their bright colors ; vases of flowers were 
scattered everywhere about; a cabinet organ (it 
had been bought for the new house) stood in one 
corner ; and York was surprised to see the number 
of books arranged in the neat bookcase on the 
wall. As he lay watching the two women, it was 
hard for him to realize that they ploughed in the 
field, milked the cows, and did other rough work 
of the farm, but it was true. He knew that Grace 
had led away old Bet, fed and stabled her with 
her own hands, and he hated to think that his 
lameness had compelled her to do what was really 
his own work. What sort of a life was it that 
they led there, shut in from the world by the sur- 
rounding hills ? It was beautiful now with the 
59 


SWEET PEGGY 


soft gray lights and silver shreds of mist ; but 
what must it be in winter when the snow blocked 
the roads, and the storm king raged and roared 
through the valley ? He shuddered at the 
thought of those two women alone in that moun- 
tain home through the long dreary winter. What 
was it about being held in the hollow of His 
hand ? Perhaps they were as safe there as any- 
where. 

“ Mr. York, it rains.” 

Peggy approached his sofa while Grace and her 
mother picked up the rags and pieces which had 
littered up the tidy room. 

“ I know that,” he replied, “ and you wore 
your best hat.” 

“It will clear up before night,” she declared. 
cc Mrs. Bradford says so, because the clouds are 
broken and you can see Storm King’s summit 
through them. When it is a steady all-day 
downpour they hide Storm King’s head alto- 
gether. Now do you know what we must do ? ” 

“ Let it rain, I suppose, until it sees fit to clear 
off.” 

“ We must stay to dinner,” said she, looking 
down upon him in triumph. 

<c Oh, no ; I could n’t think of giving the 
ladies so much trouble,” he declared. 

60 


ADAGIO 


cc It will be no trouble, Mr. York,” Grace re- 
plied, drawing near ; “ instead it will give us great 
pleasure. We see so few people.” 

“ I confess that I am delightfully situated,” 
said he. “ I would like to stay a week, but I 
remember that I am a stranger.” 

cc Forget it,” said she, with a smile that seemed 
to cast a radiance over her marred face. “ We 
will only be too glad to welcome you as a friend. 
1 hope your foot does n’t ache so much now.” 

“ It is much better, thank you,” he replied. 
“I had almost forgotten it.” 

“Then it is settled,” said Peggy, gleefully, 
“ and I ’m going to help get dinner. Mrs. 
Bradford always lets me.” 

Mrs. Bradford gave the girl a warm, motherly 
smile which proved what a favorite she was, then 
the three women withdrew to confer over the all- 
important question of dinner. York could hear 
them stepping back and forth in the next room, 
the rattle of the dishes blended harmoniously 
with the tones of their voices ; and he lay, half 
dreaming, looking down over the rain-washed 
valley. Not a human being was to be seen; 
nature was alone, solitary and still, except for 
those two gentlewomen and Peggy in the little 
gray house on the ledge. A robin in the lilac 
61 


SWEET PEGGY 


bush began to warble his rain-note : cc More wet ! 
more wet ! ” and from the mountain came the 
melodious tinkle of a cow-bell. How quiet, 
how grand, how beautiful it was ! York felt as 
though he were resting in God’s great temple. 

Dinner was soon ready, and he hobbled out 
into the dining-room on his crutch. They had 
made no extra parade for their unexpected and 
stranger guest, but York felt that no food could 
be more appropriate than that which they placed 
before him. Sweet field strawberries, smothered in 
rich yellow cream ; a great bowl of delicious bread 
and milk ; eggs made into a light, delicate ome- 
let of golden brown ; rhubarb pie ; and brimming 
glasses of fresh milk. As they lived near to 
nature’s heart, it was her viands that they served. 
The meal finished, York watched the simple, 
homely clearing away ; and when they returned to 
the other room where Mrs. Bradford sat down to 
her afternoon knitting, he did not need a look 
from Peggy to send him to the little cabinet or- 
gan. He knew he was giving those two lonely 
women a great pleasure by simply coming there 
and bringing with him a glimpse of the great 
world that throbbed and beat, and rushed and 
hurried, outside of those great silent, unchanging 
mountains. 


62 


ADAGIO 


Peggy had evidently prepared her friends for 
the treat in store for them, for when York went 
unasked to the organ, Mrs. Bradford, laying down 
her knitting, took off her glasses ; and, going over 
to the window, Grace sat down, her face turned 
toward Storm King, which towered above all the 
surrounding mountains. No one but Grace her- 
self knew what Storm King had been to her. In 
her great trial, when she had struggled back to 
life to find herself alone, deserted, marred, for- 
saken, it had seemed to her like a relentless fate. 
Strong, invincible, and unyielding, it had towered 
above her the personification of the Power that 
had darkened her life. She had almost hated it 
in its solemn grandeur, feeling it to be an impass- 
able barrier shutting her in from all that was beau- 
tiful and fair. She had beaten her soul against 
its impregnable fortress until, one winter morning, 
she had seen outlined upon its gray, rugged sum- 
mit a pure white cross. All else was grim and 
bare as usual, but on the granite brow was the 
sign of the cross. It was but a phenomenon 
caused by the melting snow, but it brought Grace 
Bradford to the feet of her Saviour, and from that 
moment she had loved Storm King. As she 
now turned her face toward her old friend, it 
seemed as though she knew what was coming : 

63 


SWEET PEGGY 


she had heard the melody many years before ; 
the moment was a re-lived one. 

“ And then methought my dream was chang’d. 

The streets no longer rang, 

Hush’d were the glad Hosannas 
The little children sang. 

The sun grew dark with mystery. 

The morn was cold and chill. 

As the shadow of a cross arose 
Upon a lonely hill.” 

The beautiful voice, hushed almost to a whisper, 
made her very soul tremble. Did the stranger 
know of her pain, her fancy ? She turned a 
frightened face toward him ; but, no, he was not 
thinking of her ; he was intent only on his music. 
With head thrown back, he poured out with the 
full power of his melodious voice the refrain : 

“ Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! 

Lift up your gates and sing ; 

Hosanna in the highest. 

Hosanna to your King ! ” 

Grace turned away her face ; her whole soul 
thrilled within her, borne up on the wings of 
melody. Storm King, but a moment ago grand 
and gloomy, veiled in mist, was now emerging 
from the shadows. As the clouds broke and fell 
away, a golden mist wrapped it about, through 
64 


ADAGIO 


which she could see it still strong and invinci- 
ble, a mighty fortress of the soul. The moun- 
tain and the music seemed part of the same grand 
harmony, one of God’s great symphonies. 

York was always at his best when singing. 
His fingers playing among the keys evoked sweet 
little melodies and harmonious chords that were 
lost almost as soon as found. He knew that his 
music was the best way to thank his hostesses for 
their kind entertainment, but he did not know 
just what would please them. Grace’s face he 
could not see ; it was turned toward the window. 
Mrs. Bradford, leaning back in her chair, beating 
time with her foot, would be pleased with any- 
thing ; but what would delight them most, — “ Ave 
Maria,” or one of those rollicking darkey songs 
with an accompaniment which has been aptly 
likened to a tin shop tumbling downstairs ? 
Looking over to Peggy for enlightenment, he 
forgot all about his entertainers, and, with a mis- 
chievous sparkle in his eye, began to sing : 

** When and where shall I earliest meet her. 

What are the words she first will say. 

By what dear name shall I learn to greet her, 

I know not now, but ’twill come some day.” 

The charm of the sweet old love-song took pos- 
session of him. Forgetting his listeners, he sur- 
5 65 


SWEET PEGGY 


rendered himself to a day dream of the fair lady 
who had sung beneath his window. When would 
he be so fortunate as to meet her, he wondered, 
as he poured out the last refrain : 

“ The stars will fall, and the angels be weeping 
Ere I cease to love her, my queen, my queen ! 99 

Peggy's face was a study as she listened, curled 
up in the corner of the old sofa on which York 
had rested before dinner ; but he had forgotten 
her, forgotten everything, as he sang song after 
song, now tender, now gay, until he was brought 
to himself by a ray of golden light darting across 
the room from the western window. It was 
clearing off: the valley was filled with golden 
mist, and behind the broken, rugged chain of 
mountains the dark sky was edged with crimson ; 
Storm King was transfigured by the reflection of 
gold-lined clouds. 

York rose from the organ with a laughing 
apology, — 

“ I hope you will forgive me for singing so 
long. I entirely forgot myself.” 

“ I can never tell you how much pleasure you 
have given me,” said Grace, leaving the window 
and crossing over to him. “ I have been lifted 
into another world.” 


66 


ADAGIO 


York felt unexpectedly touched. No tumul- 
tuous burst of applause ever gave him the pleas- 
ure that did the sight of this woman’s marred face. 
Her eyes were tender and wet; he knew that she 
had been weeping. 

“ I ’m glad I could repay in some slight degree 
your kindness to the stranger,” he replied. <c It 
has given me great pleasure to come here ; I hope 
I may be able to come again.” 

“You will always find a welcome,” said she, 
simply. 

Peggy, looking on from the sofa, beamed with 
satisfaction. The visit had turned out better than 
she had dared hope. York could be very nice 
indeed when he chose, was her mental comment ; 
but aloud she announced, “ It has cleared off.” 

“And the hat is saved,” York replied. “I 
think we can now venture to descend into the 
valley.” 

Plainly the ladies were sorry to bid their guests 
good-by, and still more so was York to have 
Grace go to bring up old Bet ; but his foot, though 
he would not allow it to be mentioned, had done 
all that he knew it was able to do. 

Leaving the two ladies at the gate gazing wist- 
fully after them, they drove out into a dazzling 
world. As they turned, before passing out of 

67 


SWEET PEGGY 


sight over the brow of the hill, to wave a last 
farewell, the sun came out from under the edge of 
the black cloud, and the little house stood illu- 
mined, its windows reflecting the glowing tints of 
the sky. The robin in the lilac bush sent out a 
joyful carol instead of the dismal: “Too wet! 
too wet ! ” he had sung all day, for the sun had 
come out and shed its benediction on the little 
gray house nestling among the hills. 


68 


Chapter VI 


MATINS 


$ 


O come, let us worship and kneel before the Lord. 


“ "TW "T OW, Mr. York, you know it ’s just an 
excuse to go ridin’ on Sunday ; ” and 
^ ^ Mercy pursed her lips into their most 

proper, not-to-be-allowed expression. 

“ How you misjudge me ! ” replied York, re- 
proachfully. “ I was brought up to go to church. 
I was led there when an infant of tender years. 
Habit is everything, and I feel that I must have 
backslid several inches during the last six weeks, 
when I have n’t been able to attend church prop- 
erly. Now, what is to hinder Eben’s harness- 
ing up and taking you and me to church in 
state ? ” 

cc Mr. York, you ought to be ashamed,” cried 
the scandalized Mercy ; “ me an orthodox church- 
member a-ridin’ on Sunday ! ” 

“ But to church, Phillis.” 

69 


SWEET PEGGY 


“ Church or no church, I ain’t a-goin’ to give 
the neighbors a chance to talk by ridin’ out with 
you Sunday or any other day ; I know what ’s 
proper.” 

“ Would it be equal to a declaration, Phillis? ” 
asked York, wickedly. “ Would they think we 
were going to the minister’s instead of to church? ” 

“ Mr. York, ar’ n’t you ashamed ? ” and Mercy 
set down her coffee cup to gaze reproachfully 
across the table. “You, a single man, a-talkin’ 
so to me ! What would the neighbors say if they 
heard you ? ” 

“ That you are very hard on me, Phillis,” he 
replied in a hurt tone. “ I only asked permission 
to ride up to the church. It is such a beautiful 
morning everybody in Cathance will go, and you 
should take an interest in my spiritual welfare.” 

“ If you will go trapesin’ about, you will,” said 
Mercy, in a resigned tone ; “ and there ’ll be just 
such a fuss as there was the night after you went 
postin’ up the mountain. Men never do have 
any sense.” 

“ My foot is better,” York declared. “ I be- 
lieve I could walk to church.” 

“ Well, if you do, me or somebody else will 
need all the divine grace they can get,” declared 
Mercy ; “ I know that.” 

70 


MATINS 


<c Poor Phillis, I have led you a life of it,” said 
York, with sudden compunction. “ You see I ’m 
not a Job.” 

“ No, nor none of his relations,” she retorted. 
“Some men wouldn’t have made such a fuss 
over a broken neck.” 

“ Probably I should have been more submissive 
if mine had been broken,” York remarked. “ I 
think I had better go to church, confess my sins, 
and obtain absolution, so you may tell Eben to 
harness up.” 

Mercy knew that there was nothing for her to 
do but obey, but she did it under protest ; and, 
utterly rejecting a seat in the carriage, she walked 
up the hill to the church, resplendent in her best 
false front, her black straw bonnet tied in a 
square bow beneath her chin, her hands, in their 
black lace mitts, properly folded, and the hem of 
her best black alpaca white with dust. 

It was a perfect summer morning. A breeze, 
incense-laden, blew from the northwest. Great 
fleecy clouds drifted before it over the deep blue 
sky, and the waters of the lake laughed and tum- 
bled over each other, breaking out in flashes of 
white foam, or sparkling in the sheltered coves 
like silver and diamonds. York inhaled deep 
breaths of the sweet, pure air as he and Eben 
7i 


SWEET PEGGY 


slowly climbed the hill, passing groups of people 
arrayed in their Sunday best, bound for the little 
church whose cracked bell was awakening the 
echoes sleeping among the gray ledges. The 
lilacs had faded, but all along the fences beside 
the road the fragrant syringas and cinnamon roses 
were in full bloom. The fields were ready for 
the scythe, and men talked decorously about 
beginning haying while they were waiting out- 
side for the cracked bell to stop ringing. 

Going into the church, York sat down in a 
modest back pew near the door and directly 
underneath the old-fashioned gallery where the 
singers sat, as he had no intention of making a 
parade of his lameness by limping up the aisle. 
There was a large congregation, for all the folks of 
Cathance were there, arrayed in their bravest and 
best. Mercy Palmer passed up the aisle without 
a glance at her recreant patient, and right behind • 
her came Phoebe Howe in a marvellous gown of 
flowered calico, with a bright pink necktie tied 
in a square bow at her throat, and on her head 
a hat trimmed with bright red roses. Phoebe 
was always on the alert, and kept a wide-awake 
lookout at what went on around her. No one 
in the church escaped her eye, and every bit of 
new finery was minutely inspected. Pauline 
72 


MATINS 


Lowell arrived a little later. Every hair was in 
place; her neat black bonnet was carefully ad- 
justed, and the point of her black silk shawl 
exactly in the middle ; a sprig of caraway was in 
her black mitted hands to be nibbled during ser- 
mon time for the “ dyspepsy,” which was a 
chronic ailment with her. Grace Bradford and 
her mother had driven down, after rising at four 
in the morning in order to get the morning work 
done in time. As he looked at the marred face 
under the plain bonnet, York felt that the place 
wherein he sat was holy. 

York’s eyes wandered oftenest to the Turner 
pew. They were among the last arrivals. Mrs. 
Turner looked heated and hurried, and fell to 
fanning herself vigorously with a huge palm-leaf 
the moment she was seated. Mr. Turner, with 
an uncomfortable, not-at-home look in his best 
clothes and white cuffs, struggled bravely not to 
succumb to the drowsy influence of the day and 
discourse. York was keenly disappointed ; no 
beautiful lady boarder arrayed in snowy white or 
cool gray accompanied them. Not even Peggy 
was there : the seat contained only Mr. and Mrs. 
Turner and an elderly lady with white hair and 
serene face, whom he had often seen passing the 
house, but whose name he did not know. 

73 


SWEET PEGGY 


The cracked bell stopped tolling, and the ser- 
vice began. York's sudden zeal and interest in 
church-going began to flag, and his eyes wan- 
dered wistfully to the purple hillside. He 
would rather lie on the ledges outside than listen 
to that dreadful hymn-singing to the accompani- 
ment of a cabinet organ out of tune. The ser- 
mon would be still worse : what a fool he had 
been to come ! Then he glanced at Grace Brad- 
ford and felt ashamed. What a heathen he was ! 
After another dreadful hymn would come the 
sermon. He would compose himself and give 
it his reverent attention, forgetting all about 
beautiful, mysterious singers. What was that ? — 


In heav’nly love a - bid - ing, No change my heart shall fear. 


York half started from his seat as he heard the 
beautiful, thrilling cadence. She was up there 
in the old gallery, singing, and he could not get 
a glimpse of her. How stupid he had been to 
sit down there by the door ! he might have 
known that it would be like her to sing for them. 


tf In heavenly love abiding. 

No change my heart shall fear ; 
And safe is such confiding. 

For nothing changes here.” 

74 


MATINS 


The people in the middle and front of the 
church turned round and looked at the singer. 
The full glory of Phoebe Howe’s pink bow was 
shed upon him, but all he could see was the un- 
even, painted boards of the gallery floor. If he 
could but walk up to the front of the church ! 
That would never do. People must keep their 
seats and listen decorously, though an angel from 
heaven came and sang to them. 

** Green pastures are before me. 

Which yet I have not seen,” 

the beautiful voice went on, growing fuller and 
clearer, as the singer gained confidence. What 
matchless tone-shading ; what thrilling cadences ! 
There was heart as well as ability and training in 
them, and all but he could see her! He envied 
Mercy her prominent front seat. If only he had 
not been such a mule ! 

“ Wherever he may guide me. 

No want shall turn me back.” 

A trained, marvellously beautiful voice of 
finest tone and quality was singing for those 
simple country people, and most of them sat un- 
moved, taking it as a matter of course. York 
felt unreasonably provoked with Mrs. Turner 
75 


SWEET PEGGY 


for gazing straight in front of her, the big palm- 
leaf fan waving faster than ever, and with the 
farmer for nodding as though already lulled for 
the sermon. He would give half he possessed to 
see the singer. He could imagine how she 
looked, standing there, tall and fair, with uplifted 
face, happy in her power to express herself 
through her wonderful voice. She was dressed 
in white, with a white rose in her hair. York 
forgot that it was customary for ladies, though 
they might sing like angels, to wear hats in 
church. In his mind’s eye he pictured a sort of 
Saint Cecilia standing in the old gallery with a 
very becoming ray of sunshine falling across her 
pale brown hair. 

“ My hope I cannot measure ; 

My path to life is free ; 

My Saviour has my treasure , 

And he will walk with me.” 

The last lingering cadence died away ; the long 
note sank into throbbing silence, and an eloquent 
stillness filled the church. Slowly the minister 
rose and announced his text ; but the sermon 
might have been in Choctaw for all York heard 
of it. Who was she? Why was she hiding 
away among the hills ? Was it fate that kept 
them so persistently apart ? He would defy 
76 


MATINS 


fate ; he would see her that morning when church 
was done. Nothing should prevent their com- 
ing face to face at last. 

As soon as the benediction was pronounced, 
York placed himself at the door that led up into 
the old gallery and stood watching the choir as 
they came down. A bevy of girls passed him 
with hymn-books in their hands. He knew 
them all and gave a pleasant “ Good-morning ” 
in answer to their greetings. There was no 
Saint Cecilia among them with a white rose in her 
hair. They were simple country girls in gay 
hats and bright summer dresses, who had no con- 
ception of the quality and tone of the voice they 
had listened to that morning. The congrega- 
tion dispersed, but still she did not appear. 
Eben brought the horse and carriage to the 
door, and, looking in, beckoned to his master, 
but York was oblivious to the commands of 
his autocratic man-of-all-work. Not one step 
would he budge until he saw his Saint Cecilia, if 
he stood there till doomsday. Many stopped 
to speak to him, congratulating him on being 
able to be out; and Eben began to wax im- 
patient as the church emptied, and the man 
he condescended to work for still kept him 
waiting. 


77 


SWEET PEGGY 


There was another patient waiter there that 
morning. Just outside on the steps John 
Thompson had taken his stand. He was used 
to the situation, for he took up his station there 
every Sunday when Peggy was at church, and 
always laid in an extra amount of patience for 
such times, for she was sure to keep him wait- 
ing. At last she came tripping down the stairs 
from the gallery dressed in white, a bunch of 
cinnamon roses in her belt, the chiffon hat on 
her head. York confronted her as soon as she 
reached the last stair. 

“ Where is she ? ” he demanded. 

“Where is who ? ” she replied. “ You must 
be more explicit in your inquiries, Mr. York.” 

“You know whom I mean,” he replied im- 
patiently ; “ the lady who sang.” 

“ Oh, do you mean the lady boarder ? ” 

“ Yes ; Miss Nelson.” 

“ I think she must have gone ; ” and Peggy 
looked around the nearly deserted church. 

“ Gone ! ” echoed York. “ Then she must 
have vanished on a broomstick.” 

“ Oh, Mr. York ! ” exclaimed Peggy, “ asso- 
ciating Miss Nelson with a broomstick ! ” 

“ How on earth could she get out of this 
church, and I not see her ? ” he demanded. 

78 


MATINS 


<c Are you sure that you know her when you 
do see her? ” asked Peggy, quizzically. 

“ I should know her among a thousand,” York 
declared. 

Peggy gave her shoulders an expressive little 
shrug. 

“ I suppose you think she has wings and a 
halo,” said she, cc but she hasn’t, — not a single 
feather.” 

<c Has she really gone ? ” asked York, in a dis- 
appointed tone. 

“ Yes, she must have, for I don’t see her any- 
where ; ” and Peggy peeped up into the gallery, 
and then glanced into the nearly deserted church. 

<c Just my luck,” said York, with an impatient 
sigh. cc I ’m fated never to see her.” 

“ Did she really sing well ? ” asked Peggy, 
looking doubtfully into his face. 

cc She sang like an angel,” he declared. “ You 
never heard such a voice in all your life before, 
Peggy ; ” and he looked seriously down on the 
girl. “ It is a great privilege for you to listen to 
such singing.” 

Peggy dropped her dancing brown eyes and 
looked properly impressed. 

“ I hope I appreciate my opportunities,” said 
she, meekly. 


79 


SWEET PEGGY 


“ Wal, Mr. York, I ’d like to know if you Ye 
goin’ hum to-day ? ” and Eben made his way 
into the church. 

<c Yes, I ’m going now/’ York replied. “ Will 
you honor me with a seat in my carriage, 
Peggy ? ” 

Before the girl could reply, young Thompson 
stepped up, and, possessing himself of Peggy’s 
hymn-book, proudly placed himself at her side. 

“ Are you ready, Peggy?” said he. “It's 
gitting kind of late.” 

u Thank you, Mr. York,” said Peggy, sweetly, 
“ but I think I had better walk ; it is n’t proper 
to ride on Sundays in Cathance, you know.” 

York watched the young people walk off down 
the hill side by side, and then climbed into his 
carriage in an unenviable frame of mind. He 
was more and more convinced that Peggy was too 
bright and sweet a girl to throw herself away on 
a country bumpkin, by which unmerited title he 
designated poor innocent John Thompson. 


80 


Chapter VII 
ALLEGRETTO 



“ T"\HILLIS, now that my foot is so much 
wr** better, I begin to feel convivial ; and if 
you would only endeavor to masticate 
with your molars, I would launch out into society 
and have something in the nature of a sym- 
posium.” 

“ What on earth are you talkin' about ? ” 
Mercy paused in the act of rinsing her milk- 
pans to gaze at her companion as though she 
entertained some anxiety for his reason. York 
sat in the side door smoking. The buttercups, 
daisies, and clover had all been laid low, and the 
picturesque hay-cocks dotted the fields. Down 
in the lowlands the bobolink was sending forth 
his liquid note; the western sky was all aflame, 
and the waters of the lake were flushed with sun- 
set light. 

6 


8 


SWEET PEGGY 


“ I was only expressing a desire to be social 
and entertain my neighbors,” York explained. 

“ Why did n’t you say so, then,” said Mercy, 
going back to the sink, “ instead of talkin’ such 
gibberish ? ” 

“ Do you suppose if you and I united our 
efforts we could entertain that time-honored 
institution, the sewing society, Phillis ? ” 

“The land sakes, Mr. York!” cried Mercy, 
dropping her dish-cloth with a splash. “What 
are you thinkin’ of? Do you suppose I would 
turn the sewin’ society loose into this house when 
it has never had a sign of a spring cleanin’ ? ” 

“ Why not? ” asked York, with masculine in- 
difference. “ What has spring cleaning got to 
do with the sewing society ? ” 

Mercy gave him a glance of scorn too deep for 
words. 

“ I ’d think you ’d be ashamed of yerself,” 
said she when she could speak, “a-settin’ there 
saying such things. It’s bad enough keepin’ 
house for a single man without turnin’ every 
woman from all round the lake into your house 
when it ain’t never had a spring cleanin’. Land 
knows, they find enough to talk about as it is, 
without givin’ ’em a chance to find more.” 

“ My dear, gentle, misunderstood Phillis,” 


ALLEGRETTO 


said York, in his tenderest tone, u this house is 
mine, not yours. I will take the blame of all the 
cobwebs, and will impress it on the ladies’ minds 
that I am the wretch, the tyrant, who would not 
let the house be turned wrong side out and be 
made uncomfortable for three weeks while you 
cleaned it.” 

“ Oh, you can talk,” said Mercy, with a sniff 
of disdain as she put away her last milk-pan. 

“ And I ’m going to entertain the sewing 
society,” he declared. cc It is a duty I owe the 
ladies of Cathance, so you can tell your friends 
that I expect them to hold their function here 
next week.” 

When York spoke that way, Mercy knew that 
there was nothing for her to do but obey, but 
her spirit was sad within her ; and when her 
night’s work was finished, she threw her apron 
over her head and started up the hill to confer 
with her friend and neighbor, Phoebe Howe. A 
purple haze was softly stealing over the world, 
folding nature in a sweet half-light. The birds 
called drowsily to one another from the tree-tops ; 
the water of the Cathance lapped gently on the 
shingly shore, and in the eastern sky one great 
white star was burning. As Mercy went up to the 
door, Phoebe’s head emerged from an open window. 
83 


SWEET PEGGY 


“You'll have to come round to the back 
door; Pauliny's gone and taken the key with 
her." 

As this was a common salutation which 
greeted callers at the maidens' joint establish- 
ment, Mercy made no comment as she walked 
round the corner of the house and through the 
kitchen into the sitting-room where Phoebe was 
seated with her cat, saving oil and enjoying the 
twilight. 

“ What do you suppose Mr. York is going to 
do now ? " she asked, seating herself in the plump 
rocker. 

“Ain't goin' to pack up and clear out, is 
he ? ” answered Phoebe. “ He 's been here 'bout 
as long as I give him to stay." 

“ No danger of that,” replied Mercy. “He '11 
stay all summer, so you need n’t worry." 

“ It don’t worry me any," Phoebe declared. 
“ The more the merrier ; there 's plenty of room 
round the lake. What is he goin' to do? " 

“He’s got the notion that he's goin’ to have 
the s'ciety," replied Mercy, “and the house not 
cleaned. The front room, his room, is a sight to 
behold, and the parlor ain’t got a stick of fur- 
niture in it. Pretty-lookin' house to turn the 
hull s’ciety into.” 


84 


ALLEGRETTO 


“ Well, ’t ain’t your house,” said Phoebe, cheer- 
fully. “You ain’t to blame for the looks of it, 
and if he wants the s’ciety you ain’t got nothing 
to say. You ’d better not make too much fuss, or 
he ’ll be lookin’ round for another housekeeper.” 

“ He ’s welcome to look,” said Mercy, bridling ; 
“ I ain’t so dretful stuck on the job.” 

“ You ’d be sorry to lose it,” Phoebe declared. 
“ Such jobs as keepin’ house for a man who ’s so 
easy-goin’ and with plenty of money ain’t to be 
picked up every day.” 

“ That ’s all you know about it,” said Mercy, 
bridling more and more. “ Easy-goin’ ! You ’d 
better try it awhile ; you would n’t keep the place 
a week.” 

“ I ’d risk you givin’ me the chance to find 
out,” said Phoebe, with an aggravating laugh. 

Mercy rose with dignity. 

“You think you’re dretful knowin*, Phoebe 
Howe,” said she, with withering sarcasm ; “ but 
I ’d have you understand you ain’t so wise as 
you think you are. I think I see you waitin’ 
on Mr. York and putting up with his fits and 
humors. You ’d get enough of it in a week.” 

“Now, Mercy, no need of getting mad,” ad- 
monished Phoebe. “ Set down and tell about the 
s’ciety. How ye’r goin’ to manage? ” 

85 


SWEET PEGGY 


Thus mollified, Miss Palmer consented to oc- 
cupy the edge of a chair near the door and 
lower the apron she had put up over her head. 
It wouldn’t do to quarrel with her friend until ( 
the sewing society was over, for Phoebe was in- 
valuable in an emergency, and would be in her 
element helping get ready for the social function. 

York was determined to carry out his whim, 
and went about his preparations in high glee. 
Peggy was consulted at an early stage of the 
affair. 

“ Why, it’s a perfectly splendid idea,” she de- 
clared. “ It will be all the more fun not having 
the front room furnished ; I ’ll decorate it, Mercy, 
with brakes and wild flowers.” 

“ Litter up the house with weeds,” returned 
the unappreciative Mercy. 

“ I thought perhaps the young people might 
like to dance in there,” York began ; but Peggy 
stopped him by putting her finger on her lips 
and regarding him with dancing brown eyes. 

“You mustn’t say dance in Cathance,” said 
she, “ and at the society : why, it would shock 
the people to death.” 

“ What do they do ? ” he inquired. “ Play 
‘Roll the Cover ’ and c Post-office,’ I suppose. I 
know all about it, Miss Peggy ; you need n’t look 
86 


ALLEGRETTO 


so innocent. Of course kissing games are not so 
wicked as dancing, and a great deal pleasanter ; ” 
and he hummed provokingly : — 

** I gave her kisses three, kisses three, kisses three, 

I gave her kisses three, kisses three, 

I gave her kisses three. 

And she said that she loved me ; 

So I kept a-kissing on, on, and on.” 

“ I ’m sure,” said Peggy, pouting, “ I never 
play those silly games ; and as for that song, I 
think it is very foolish.” 

“ I should hope, Mr. York,” said Mercy, with 
her most scandalized face, “ that you ’re not think- 
in’ of dancin’ in this house. I never could put 
up with that noway in the world.” 

“ No, Phillis,” said York, soothingly ; “ we will 
not do anything so improper. By the way, 
Peggy, I suppose everybody all round the lake 
attends the society.” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Peggy, innocently, “ every- 
body in Cathance comes.” 

“ All the natives and the strangers within their 
gates,” said he, insinuatingly. 

“ There ! ” exclaimed Peggy ; “ I suspected all 
the time that you had a little axe to grind.” 

<c Nothing of the sort,” he retorted. “ My 
motives are pure and benevolent. I want to 
87 


SWEET PEGGY 


make some return to the ladies for their kindness 
to me during my lameness. They have smoth- 
ered me in jelly, and sent me liniments and rem- 
edies enough to set up a drug store.” 

Peggy tossed her head with an unbelieving 
sparkle in her eye ; and Mercy sighed as she 
thought of those same remedies which he had 
ordered Eben to consign to the bottom of the 
lake. She felt like an arch deceiver when her 
friends asked whether this or that had helped 
Mr. York's foot, and she answered according to 
the commands laid upon her. As she heard him 
greeting his guests on the eventful afternoon of 
the society, she was sure that intercourse with 
such a man was causing her to fall from grace. 
York received in the yard, leaving the house free 
to his lady guests, for he knew that at such 
functions masculine society was not wanted until 
tea-time. As they shook hands, each woman in- 
quired for his lameness, following the question 
with the triumphant announcement that she knew 
the remedy she had sent would effect a cure, to 
which York gravely assented. In the course of 
one half-hour Mercy, standing near the door, 
heard him give the credit of his cure to Tobias 5 
Liniment, St. Jacob's Oil, Green Mountain Salve, 
Balm of Gilead, and Witch Hazel, and she stood 
88 


ALLEGRETTO 


by without raising a dissenting voice, though all 
the time she knew that nothing but hot water 
had been used on the foot, and that the salves, 
liniments, and washes that had been sent to him 
were reposing at the bottom of the Cathance. 

Peggy was one of the first to arrive, and York 
limped down to the gate to meet her. 

“ Where is she ? ” he asked eagerly, as he 
opened the gate for her and took the covered 
basket out of her hand. 

cc She is coming just behind,” Peggy replied. 
<c I walked faster than she did. There is a lemon 
pie in that basket, and it must be held at the 
proper angle. If you don’t put your whole 
mind to it, it will slip to one side and the frost- 
ing will be spoiled.” 

“ Lemon pies be — eaten,” said York, recklessly 
tilting the basket. “ No, you can’t take it into 
the house ; you must stay here and introduce 
me.” 

“ Introduce you ? ” said Peggy, looking up in 
innocent surprise. “ Will you require an intro- 
duction ? ” 

“ Why, naturally,” he replied. Cf It is custom- 
ary in society, you know, although kindred souls, 
I acknowledge, recognize each other without one. 
How far behind is she? ” 

89 




SWEET PEGGY 


“ There she is now.” 

York turned quickly, to behold Mrs. Turner 
coming, panting, up over the brow of the hill. 

“ Pe ggy •' ” 

York looked dangerous. Seizing her precious 
pie, Peggy ran up to the path to the house ; at 
the steps she turned round as though something 
had just occurred to her. 

“Oh, you meant Miss Nelson,” she called 
back. cc I misunderstood and thought you were 
asking for mamma. She is not coming ; she has 
a headache;” and with that she vanished into the 
house. 

The gentlemen did not come to the society 
until supper-time. At about six they began to 
gather, arrayed in the uncomfortable splendor of 
their best suits, and lingered near the gate or in 
the yard talking about the haying, while getting 
up their courage to go inside and face the battery 
of feminine eyes and tongues. York at last 
succeeded in getting his male guests through 
the door and seated in the front room, where 
they gazed with interest and curiosity at the 
grand piano, ousted for the time being from its 
position in the middle of the floor, and at the 
many books and pictures scattered everywhere 
about. Surely there was no other such room all 
9 ° 


ALLEGRETTO 


along the shore of the Cathance. It was no 
wonder that Mercy Palmer was ashamed to have 
her friends and neighbors come into it. 

Supper was the principal feature of the society. 
Mercy, Peggy, and Phoebe Howe ever since five 
o’clock had been holding a solemn conference 
over it out in the kitchen. The plates and 
baskets were unpacked and their contents placed 
on the table until it fairly groaned beneath the 
accumulated pile of good things. The ladies vied 
in bringing specimens of their culinary skill to the 
society ; and when York saw the array of cakes 
and pies, jellies and custards, he declared the sight 
gave him the “ dyspepsy.” He made a delight- 
ful host, and, marshalling his guests into the din- 
ing-room, he managed, by his easy manner, jokes, 
and laughter, to place them at their ease and make 
them feel at home. 

After tea the young people were allowed to 
amuse themselves with games such as could be 
played before the minister, while the older people 
gossiped or discussed the crops according to their 
taste and sex. York, resting his foot after its 
unusual exertions, saw several of the women 
gather around Peggy as though urging some 
favor. In a few minutes the girl broke away 
from them and approached his sofa. 


SWEET PEGGY 


“ They want some music,” said she. “You 
must sing for them.” 

“ Must I? ” he replied. “ I don’t know about 
obeying you. I believe you kept Miss Nelson 
away on purpose to tease me.” 

“As though I could cause a headache,” said 
Peggy, indignantly. “I am sure I would have pre- 
vented hers if I could. I am real sorry for her ; I 
bathed her head and nursed her all the morning.” 

“ Enviable opportunity ! ” murmured York, 
with a sentimental sigh. 

“ If she were here, she would sing,” declared 
Peggy ; “ but she is n’t, so you must.” 

“ What shall I sing ? ” he asked. 

“ Let me see,” said Peggy, with a thoughtful 
brow ; “ something they will appreciate and enjoy. 
Not — 

* If I were a rose this would I do/ — 

That is a perfect love-song, but they would n’t 
appreciate it.” 

“How do you know I sing that?” he de- 
manded. 

“ Oh, I heard you one night,” said Peggy, care- 
lessly. “ I knew you were thinking of Miss 
Nelson, so I did n’t intrude my presence. But, 
come, I told them you would sing, and they are 
waiting.” 


92 


ALLEGRETTO 


York good-naturedly limped over to the piano 
and ran his fingers up and down the keys, while 
his audience seated themselves around the room 
or gathered in groups in the doorways, all looking 
as solemn as though they were in church. Drop- 
ping into a tripping measure, York began to 
sing, “ On the road to Mandelay ” but it did not 
strike a responsive chord ; in fact, some of the 
faces in his audience expressed grave disapproval, 
and he made haste to change the key. Surely the 
ballad of “ Alonzo the brave and the fair Imo- 
gene ” would enliven them ; but, no, they took 
the ghostly refrain 

“ Down among the dead men, 

Down among the dead men, 

Down among the dead men, 

I must go,” 

seriously. Not a flicker of a smile was to be 
seen, and Pauline Lowell actually looked nerv- 
ous. York paused in despair, glancing inquir- 
ingly at Peggy, who was leaning on the piano. 

“Try c Old Kentucky Home/ ” said she. 
cc Don’t you see, their sense of humor has n’t 
been cultivated.” 

York obeyed, and had the satisfaction of see- 
ing the faces light up at the sweet old melody. 
Pauline Lowell, who always had tears handy, 
93 


SWEET PEGGY 


took out her handkerchief and held it to her 
eyes as though she was in church, while some of 
the young men beat time with their feet. Thus 
encouraged, York kept on with the old Foster 
melodies, and wound up his concert with the 
cc Star Spangled Banner ” sung with the full power 
of his magnificent voice. 

The ice being broken by this time, when Peggy 
proposed playing “ Going to Jerusalem,” there 
was a general rush for chairs. They were ar- 
ranged down the centre of the empty parlor, and 
as many as could get around them started on the 
journey. Peggy, standing by the piano, directed 
York's music ; and as he played the most rollick- 
ing, maddening, dancing airs he could think of, 
the fun waxed fast and furious. Through the 
open door they could watch the game. Fat Mrs. 
Turner, her palm-leaf vigorously waving, held on 
until many a slim young girl was obliged to fall 
out. When the music stopped, she would drop 
into a chair and sit fanning and laughing, the 
embodiment of good nature, until the signal was 
given to start on again, when off she would go as 
though she did not weigh any more than her slim 
young daughter, who was laughing and applaud- 
ing from the next room. 

Farmer Turner entered into the game with a 
94 


ALLEGRETTO 


do-or-die expression. He circulated cautiously 
around the chairs, his big hand hovering over the 
back ready to seize one when the signal was given, 
utterly regardless of the music and the urgings 
from the rear to step out lively. When the 
piano stopped abruptly, he would fling himself 
into a seat, wiping his heated brow with an air of 
satisfaction. Once when York stopped in the 
midst of a lively strain, Pauline Lowell, in ner- 
vous excitement, threw herself into the farmer's 
lap, to the great elation of the young people, the 
consternation of the farmer, and her own undying 
mortification. She was nearly in tears, while 
Mrs. Turner’s laughing and fanning, Peggy’s 
clapping her hands, and the farmer’s broad, good- 
natured smile only increased her mortification. 
Assuring and reassuring the company that it was 
all accident, and she ’d die before she ’d plan to 
do such a thing, she finally rushed away to hide 
her outraged sense of propriety in the kitchen, 
where Mercy, who had no opinions of such 
u goin’s-on,” was washing dishes. 

The last chair was contested by Phoebe Howe 
and Farmer Turner. Around and around it 
they flew while York played his liveliest, most 
frolicking airs. Phoebe’s gay calico fluttered and 
the pink bow flashed as she spun about ; while the 
95 


SWEET PEGGY 


farmer, urged on by the young people, went after 
her, his coat tails streaming, his arms working 
like pump handles. When at last York stopped 
abruptly on a high note, Phoebe was sitting 
straight and erect in the chair, the skirts spread 
out, and the pink bow perked up as though the 
wearer had just taken her seat in church ; while 
the farmer stood by, with a broad grin on his 
good-natured face, and his wife rocked and fanned 
herself harder than ever. 

“ Going to Jerusalem ” was followed by 
cc Where art thou, Jacob? Here I am, Rachel,” 
“ Kitchen Furniture,” “ Stage Coach,” and other 
games until an unusually late hour for Cathance. 
All went home voting it the best society meeting 
they had ever had, except poor John Thompson. 
He, poor fellow, had been miserable all the even- 
ing, for Peggy had had no words or time for him. 
She was everywhere, leading and directing the 
games, and always with that singing fellow at her 
elbow. John began to regard York with scowl- 
ing animosity, and went home restless and defiant. 
He burned to do something to make Peggy see 
his worth, even if he could n't sing, play on the 
piano, make fool speeches, and give tender glances 
like that soft-headed city chap who had enter- 
tained Cathance’s sewing society. 

96 


Chapter VIII 
MELODIE 



Y ORK, grown desperate, had determined 
on a bold stroke. It was a bright, warm 
morning ; in the fields men were tossing 
the fragrant hay about, and loaded wains passed 
up and down the hill to wide-open, cool, dark 
barns. The flowers along the road were getting 
dusty, for it was a very dry season, and the earth 
was panting for showers. 

It was the longest walk York had taken, and 
the rough, uneven road told him that his foot was 
not entirely well yet. It was so hot and dusty 
that when he arrived at Farmer Turner’s gate 
York was in anything but a pleasant mood. The 
shady porch with its woodbine drapery looked 
very cool and inviting. Mrs. Turner’s flower- 
7 97 


SWEET PEGGY 


beds were putting forth their summer bloom, and 
gay little nasturtiums and great purple and white 
morning-glories had climbed up among the lilac 
bushes, where they peeped out shyly from among 
the dark green. Sweet peas, <c On tiptoe for a 
flight ! ” were under the front windows, and down 
by the gate was a row of stately hollyhocks. 

Pausing at the gate, York glanced eagerly into 
the porch in hopes that he would catch a glimpse 
of a white dress. Surely she would be sitting 
there on such a morning, but the serene-faced 
elderly lady he had noticed so often was the only 
human being in sight. She was writing letters, 
but, seeing the young man at the gate, laid aside 
her desk and rose to meet him. York advanced 
up the path and lifted his straw hat. 

“ I beg pardon for intruding,” said he. “ Is 
Mrs. Turner at home ? ” 

“ You are Mr. York, the gentleman who- has 
been lame,” said the lady, moved to compassion 
by the young man's pale face. “ Come up on 
the porch and rest.” 

York was only too glad to obey. Whoever 
she was, he thought her a ministering angel, as she 
pushed a rocking-chair toward him, and, kneeling 
down, gently placed a hassock beneath his aching 
foot. 


98 


MELODIE 


cc This is the first long walk you have taken, is 
it not ? You see, I know all about you,” she 
added, smiling. “ Cathance is just like one big 
family ; we are all interested in each other. I 
have heard a great deal about Mr. York and his 
sprained ankle.” 

“ If you have heard correctly, you know how 
impatient I have been,” replied York, with a 
smile. cc I have n't endured affliction like a saint 
and martyr.” 

“ A sprained ankle tries the patience of almost 
any one. I understand that you have kept your 
sister in ignorance of it.” 

“Yes, I thought it not worth while to trouble 
her,” York replied, wondering how this stran- 
ger knew that he was blessed with a sister. “ I 
have had ample nursing ; more would have been 
superfluous.” 

“ And a most charming place for a prison,” 
said the lady, with a smile. “ I hope you are as 
much in love with Cathance as I am. My 
daughter says that with me it is love Cathance 
if you would be my friend.” 

Her daughter ! York pricked up his ears, and 
had opened his mouth to ask a question when 
they were interrupted by the appearance of Peggy, 
— Peggy, with the sleeves of her pink shirt waist 
99 


LofC. 


SWEET PEGGY 


turned back above her dimpled elbows, and a 
white apron whose coquettish bib was fastened up 
over her shoulders with pink ribbon. She stopped 
short in surprise at sight of York leaning back in 
the rocking-chair, his foot comfortably resting on 
the old hassock. 

“ It is I, Peggy,” said he, ££ not my spirit. 
Don’t be startled ; I ’m still in the flesh.” 

££ How did you get here ? ” she demanded. 

££ I walked.” 

“ We have been getting acquainted,” said the 
lady, with a smile. ££ I was just going to call 
you. Now that you have come, I will leave you 
to entertain Mr. York ; ” and gathering up her 
writing materials, the lady disappeared into the 
house. 

££ Of course your foot is aching dreadfully,” 
said Peggy, drawing near with a sympathetic face, 
<c and you are hot and tired. You should not 
have come so far the first time, but I appreciate 
the effort you made to see me.” 

York, leaning his head back against the chair, 
looked up into Peggy’s face, trying to appear 
pale and interesting. 

££ I will go and get you a glass of iced milk,” 
said she. ££ It will make you feel better. It is 
so warm this morning.” 


oo 


MELODIE 


Peggy disappeared, and York waited in delight- 
ful expectancy. Any moment she might appear. 
He looked all about for some sign of her pres- 
ence, but none met his eye. The white linen hat 
hanging in the hall belonged to Peggy ; the 
palm-leaf fan was associated with none but Mrs. 
Turner; the newspaper lying in a pyramidal heap 
on the floor of the porch suggested the farmer, 
and the little bright worsted shawl the strange 
lady had left behind her. All was still. No 
light footstep was heard on the stair. No femi- 
nine rustle came from the interior. The wood- 
bine swayed in the warm breeze : a purple 
morning-glory, heavy with the heat of approach- 
ing noon, fell silently from the lilac-tree, and lay 
in the path in danger of being crushed by the 
first careless foot that went or came. 

Peggy soon returned bearing a brimming 
goblet of creamy milk. A piece of ice clinked 
against the glass with a deliciously cool sound. 

“ Thank you, Peggy,” said York, gratefully. 
“ This is indeed nectar; but tell me who that 
lady is who received me so graciously ? ” 

“ Why did n’t you know ? ” asked Peggy. 
“ That is Mrs. Nelson.” 

“ Her mother ? I did n’t know she had one ! 
Where is she ? ” 

IOI 


SWEET PEGGY 


“ She is not here to-day,” Peggy replied with 
the slightest possible hesitancy. 

“ She is always somewheres else when I am 
here,” York declared. “ Peggy, I want you to 
look me right in the eye while I ask you a 
question.” 

Peggy raised her beautiful brown orbs inno- 
cently to his face. Clear and liquid were they as 
a mountain brook and fringed with delicate long 
lashes. 

“ Now tell me honestly,” York demanded, “ is 
there such a person ? ” 

“ Who, — as Mrs. Nelson’s daughter?” re- 
plied Peggy. “ Of course there is. Did n’t you 
hear her sing in church ? Come into the parlor, 
and I will show you her photograph.” 

York put down his empty glass and followed 
Peggy into the house. The parlor was Mrs. 
Turner’s pride and delight, and until this sum- 
mer had been kept sacred after the fashion of 
Cathance parlors, but recently it had been trans- 
formed ; and as York stepped into its cool shade, 
fragrant with the breath of flowers, he was con- 
scious of a different atmosphere from that which 
pervaded most of the Cathance rooms. The 
stuffed, haircloth chairs had been removed from 
their prim positions along the walls. The high- 

IOZ 


MELODIE 


colored chromos had been banished. The old- 
fashioned sofa was decorated with bright-hued 
cushions, and vases of ferns and flowers were 
everywhere. Up by the window, drawn away 
from the wall, was an upright piano with loose 
sheets of music lying upon it. 

“This is her room,” said York, pausing in the 
middle of the floor and looking about him. 

“Yes,” said Peggy, impressively; “ hold your 
breath and speak low. This is her room, and 
here she is ! ” and she held up a photograph in a 
silver frame. 

Taking it to the window, York gazed at it long 
and earnestly, trying to associate the sweet, 
womanly face with the exquisite voice that had 
so charmed him. She was no Saint Cecilia ; there 
was a fashionable twist to her hair, and she wore 
eye-glasses. York took a dislike to those eye- 
glasses, for they were a destroyer of romance. 
Did she have them on when she sang “ In 
Heavenly Love Abiding ” ? he wondered. 

“You can have that if you want it,” said Peggy, 
carelessly. “It was given to me, but I can part 
with it ; and since fate seems so determined to 
keep you apart, you do need something to com- 
fort you. You can wear it next your heart.” 

Slipping the picture out of the frame, York put 
103 


SWEET PEGGY 


it in his pocket, thinking it not worth while to 
tell Peggy that he was disappointed in his ideal. 
Placing himself before the piano, he ran his fin- 
gers over the keys. It was a liquid, beautiful 
tone, and York began to sing in a sentimental 
voice : — 

“ My love is young and fair. 

My love has golden hair. 

And eyes of blue, and heart so true 
That none with her compare.’ * 

“ Humph ! ” said Peggy, leaning against the 
piano, “ you had better say bleached hair.” 

“ Peggy,” said York, sternly, “ I cannot let you 
speak that way ; you have no romance. The 
lady whose picture you gave me has not bleached 
hair.” 

“Wait till you see her,” declared Peggy. 
“ What can you tell by a picture ? Pictures 
always flatter.” 

“ I suppose,” York remarked, “ that she will 
be back to dinner.” 

“Would you like an invitation to stay?” 
asked Peggy. 

“ It is a long walk for me on my lame foot,” 
York returned, “ but I won’t force your hospi- 
tality.” 

“ I would like to have you stay,” said Peggy, 


MELODIE 


frankly ; cc and mamma told me to ask you when 
she learned that you were here.” 

“ Your mother is a hospitable soul,” said York, 
warmly. “ Thank her for her thoughtfulness 
and tell her that I am most happy to accept her 
invitation.” 

“Mrs. Nelson's daughter won't be here,” 
remarked Peggy. 

York looked at her sharply. Peggy's eyes 
were dancing, and roguish dimples were com- 
ing and going about her mouth. 

“ Where is she ? ” he demanded. 

“ She is away,” she replied ; “ she will be away 
for several days.” 

“ Peggy, you are certainly the most tantalizing 
of mortals,” exclaimed York, still gazing into the 
winsome face. <f I am still more than half in- 
clined to think with Betsey Prig that there is c no 
sich a person.' I will ask Mrs. Nelson if she 
really has a daughter who sings like an angel.” 

“Nonsense ! ” said Peggy, seriously. “ Have n’t 
you got her photograph in your pocket? Here 
is the music that she is practising ; I wish you 
would sing it, so that I can know who sings it 
the best.” 

Nothing loath, York turned to the piano and 
the music Peggy placed upon it, and curling her- 
105 


SWEET PEGGY 


self up among the cushions the girl composed 
herself to listen. The music was an aria not 
very difficult, but beautiful in tone and quality, 
and York sang it in his very best style. As the 
melodious baritone voice rang out, the men, 
following the loaded hay-carts into the barn, 
paused to listen, and Mrs. Nelson, softly opening 
her door, came out into the hall. Peggy, pull- 
ing out sheet after sheet of music, kept her guest 
at the piano. York was perfectly willing to sing, 
for music was to him the breath of life, and 
Peggy's warm admiration and delight, together 
with the spell woven by the old masters of har- 
mony, drew out the best there was in him, which 
few ever had the privilege of hearing. When at 
last he awoke to the fact that he was in an every- 
day world where they ate and drank, cooked and 
hayed, he found he had gathered a little audi- 
ence. Farmer Turner, in his shirt sleeves, was 
tipped back in his favorite chair out in the porch. 
Mrs. Turner, fanning herself with her apron, was 
just inside the parlor door. Mrs. Nelson was 
leaning back in her rocking-chair with a dreamy, 
far-away look on her face, and out in the yard 
were the hired men listening while they enjoyed 
their nooning. York rose with a laughing 
apology. 


06 


MELODIE 


<c I fear I have kept your dinner waiting, Mrs. 
Turner,’’ said he, cc but you must lay the blame 
on Peggy. She led me on until I forgot myself 
and where I was.” 

“ Peggy never does know anything about meal- 
time when there is any music going on,” said 
Mrs. Turner, rising and leading the way into the 
dining-room, where the table was set for the noon- 
day meal. 

The room looked very shady and inviting with 
the cool shadows of the leaves on the closed 
blinds, and the glowing mound of nasturtiums on 
the side table. The hired men had had their 
dinner, and the table had been reset with snowy 
cloth and the best dishes, which, until this sum- 
mer, had been kept on the top shelf of the china 
closet. 

“ I am very sorry not to meet your daughter,” 
said York to Mrs. Nelson, by whom he found 
himself as they took their places at the table. 

The lady looked surprised at this statement ; 
and York, with a guilty look, wondered what 
she would say if she knew that her daughter’s 
photograph was in his pocket. 

cc Yes,” said she, quietly, “ Charlotte would en- 
joy meeting you and hearing you sing.” 

“ I suppose,” said Mr. Turner, attacking the 
107 


SWEET PEGGY 


juicy roast before him, “ that that voice of yours 
is worth all the money you are a mind to invest 
on it.” 

“ I never think of the market value of my 
voice,” York replied. cc Musical people are not 
as a rule a very practical set, and never look at 
art in its commercial sense. Perhaps we should 
be better off financially if we did.” 

“ But if you have a voice like yours or there 
is one in your family,” said the farmer, carving 
vigorously, “ you would n’t be afraid to invest 
money in it? You wouldn’t consider it any 
risk to lay out something on it ? ” 

“ I should n’t hesitate for a minute,” said York, 
promptly. “ A good voice is a safe investment, 
Mr. Turner.” 

“ Papa speaks of voices as though they could 
be raised by the crop like turnips,” said Peggy. 
“ Are you thinking of laying down a field or two 
with them ? ” she added saucily. 

“ I never did think much of singing for a liv- 
ing,” said the farmer, “ but they say it pays. 
They tell me you could make a fortune with 
your voice.’ , 

“Perhaps I could,” York replied, “but I’m 
too lazy to try. I love music for its own sake, 
but I have never tried to turn it into money.” 

108 


MELODIE 


cc I hope we ’ll see more of you now, Mr. 
York,” said Mrs. Turner, beaming on him from 
behind the coffee urn. “ You’ll be more neigh- 
borly when your sister comes.” 

His sister again. Did they think that Leo, 
with her train of servants, governesses, and 
nursemaids, was coming to Cathance ? He 
smiled at the thought of his magnificent sister 
seated at his humble board presided over by 
Mercy, who did not masticate with her molars. 

“ Mamma thinks that if Mrs. Eastman knew 
of your sprained ankle she would be here by the 
next train,” said Peggy. “ You ought to tell her 
now that you are better.” 

“ Oh, she has enough to do looking after the 
young fry,” he replied, “ without nursing un- 
grateful brothers. She can’t forgive me for com- 
ing here to look after my ancestral acres instead of 
spending the summer with her at her cottage. 
I can’t convince her that the farm would be just 
the place for the boys.” 

“ That’s so, so it would,” said motherly Mrs. 
Turner. 

“That farm of yours would yield something,” 
remarked the farmer, “ if you had the right kind 
of a man to work it.” 

“What Eben Doolittle doesn’t know about 
109 


SWEET PEGGY 


farming would fill a large book,” York replied, 
“ but he is amusing.” 

The farmer shook his head. He had no opin- 
ion of hiring men simply for their amusing 
qualities. 

“ I told him he ought to lay down that back 
field of yours. English hay will be high this 
year, it is so dry, but he is n’t getting in half a 
crop.” 

“ It is n’t Eben’s fault that the back field was n’t 
laid down,” said York, frankly. “ I would n’t let 
him mutilate it, for it was a perfect poem.” 

The farmer again gravely shook his head. 

“Well, I guess you wasn’t cut out for a 
farmer,” said he, sadly. “You had better stick 
to the piano. You may make something out 
of that.” 

“ Yes, I think I shall,” said York, laughing. 
“ I ’m afraid I do know more about music than I 
do about farming, and singing will prove a better 
investment than English hay.” 

“ Guess you ’re right,” the farmer assented, but 
York felt that he had fallen in the estimation of 
his host. 


Chapter IX 
A BARCAROLLA 



I T had been a hot day ; a very hot day for 
Cathance. The heavens had been a hard, 
metallic blue in which the sun had hung like 
a ball of fire. The air, heavy and oppressive, had 
not had life enough to stir the leaves on the trees, 
and the flowers had drooped their heads and died. 

Late in the afternoon York left the house tell- 
ing Mercy not to be surprised if he never came 
back, for he had serious thoughts of suicide, — 
drowning would be so cool. Going down to the 
shore of the lake, he unmoored his boat and rowed 
over to a sheltered cove w’hich he had often used 
for bathing purposes. The water, still and lim- 
pid, was without motion, curling up on the white 


SWEET PEGGY 


sand, and lying there as though too lazy to move. 
In spite of the fact that the lake was heated by 
the hot rays of the sun shining upon it all day, 
York felt refreshed by his dip, and rowed slowly 
homeward, watching the gorgeous coloring all 
around him as day began to fade. Hoary-Head, 
wrapped in a purple haze, looked like a sleeping 
giant, while over Suncook the clouds were gather- 
ing in a glowing mass of violet and crimson shot 
through and through with shafts of golden light. 
A crimson pathway, the reflection of the splendor 
overhead, was spread across the lake, while the 
wooded shores lay wrapped in purple shadows. 

Dipping his oars with even, rhythmic motion, 
York rowed slowly along the shore watching and 
enjoying the gorgeous spectacle of lake and sky. 
Suddenly from out the stillness came a beautiful 
volume of sound, — a cascade of musical notes fall- 
ing and rising, soaring up to B^, which rang out 
a clear bell-like note, then dropping full two 
octaves below with a rich, deep tone which 
thrilled his very soul. York suspended his oars 
to listen, and his boat lay motionless on the still, 
breezeless water. Again came the liquid, brilliant 
music up and down the scale, while the gray 
ledges flung back the sound in silvery echoes. It 
ceased for a moment, then burst forth afresh in a 
II z 


A BARCAROLLA 


sweet, swinging melody in time like the dip and 
sway of oars : — 





. s fe-K-j ,rs — 11 

✓ n k i) . n ^ • w r — a . w .11 


T u ! 


# 0 ^ h 





The bri-er’s in bud and the sun go-ingdown. 


The last time he had heard her sing, York had 
compared her to Saint Cecilia, but now she was a 
siren. He forgot the eye-glasses of the photo- 
graph in his pocket, and pictured her a brown- 
eyed sprite on the rocks, laughing and dimpling 
at her own image in the water. Now the music 
changed, and the voice broke forth in the soprano 
part of Wagner’s stately chorus of: — 

“ Wake ! wake ! the dawning day is near.** 

York listened spellbound. What range! what 
power ! what exquisite tone-shading ! The last 
silvery echo died away, and all was silent again. 
Still he waited in the gold and purple light until 
the silence was again broken by a light tripping 
measure : — 

“ On the road to Mandalay, 

Where the old flotilla lay.*’ 

York suddenly bent to his oars. What was he 
thinking of not to catch this laughing sprite who 
was challenging him with his own music which he 


SWEET PEGGY 


had sung to her, — no, not to her ; it was Peggy 
to whom he had sung the “ Road to Mandalay.” 
He was getting the two mixed. Rowing as though 
for a wager, he sent the boat through the water with 
a rush. She was in the next cove, he knew, and 
rounding the point he would come face to face 
with her at last. Looking eagerly over his 
shoulder, he saw a sandy cove sheltered on either 
side by high wooded bluffs, and on the shore a 
rowboat, the curling white foam washing up 
under its bows. But not a living being was in 
sight. Suspending his oars, York gazed eagerly 
about. Not a leaf stirred ; not a twig, snapped ; 
not a bird twittered ; all was solitary, silent, and 
still. But for the presence of the boat he would 
have thought he had been dreaming ; that, how- 
ever, was real. He was well acquainted with Far- 
mer Turner's “ Water-Witch,” for before he had 
hurt his foot he used to go up the Kwapskitch- 
wock in her on fishing expeditions. It had not 
come there without hands, for the oars lay amid- 
ships, and the tow-line was cleverly fastened to a 
large rock. It was not a water-sprite whom he 
had heard singing, who had vanished at the 
approach of a mortal. He would wait. 

Shipping his oars, York laid himself comfort- 
ably down in the stern. Tipping his hat down 
, ”+ ^ 


A BARCAROLLA 


over his eyes, he covertly surveyed the sheltered 
cove. How innocent those motionless trees and 
bushes looked ! Did they know whom they 
were sheltering? Was she behind that huge 
maple that had been bent and twisted by the rock 
in which it had found a footing, until now, grace- 
fully distorted, it leaned over until its lower 
limbs almost touched the water. Or did that 
white birch, with its shivering leaves, conceal this 
fair lady of the lake? It was certainly romantic. 
He felt like the immortal James Fitz-James, 
only the cases were reversed. The lady was 
concealed behind the brake, surveying him. He 
only hoped she was not of a patient disposition. 
If it were Peggy now, he would give her just ten 
minutes to exhaust her entire stock, but the fair 
unknown — was she looking at him through her 
eye-glasses ? He twisted uneasily. They rather 
destroyed the romance ; he wished he had not 
thought of them. 

The crimson, purple, and gold grew more 
brilliant : the western sky was fairly dazzling. 
Suncook looked as though it were on fire, a 
flaming mountain, beautiful and grand ; but York 
sat with his back toward it and saw only the 
reflection of the colors in the still water of the 
lake. Why did n’t she come out where he could 

115 


SWEET PEGGY 


see her? Was she planning to stay hidden until 
his patience was exhausted ? That would not be 
a very long process. He glanced stealthily at his 
watch and then began to sing in a low melodious 
tone : — 

“ I am waiting ’neath thy casement. 

While the stars above are brightly shining ; 

I am waiting, only waiting. 

Waiting just to tell thee, dearest. 

That I love thee.” 

That was rather a bold stroke, considering that 
he had never met the lady in his life ; and as the 
last note died softly away, he looked' fearfully at 
the sheltering bushes, half expecting to see an 
offended goddess step forth to drive him wrath- 
fully away, but not a leaf stirred, not a bush 
rustled. Was she there at all ? Had he been 
singing to the empty air? Sitting erect, he sud- 
denly seized the oars and boldly invaded the 
cove. Running his boat upon the sand beside 
the “Water- Witch,” he was about to spring ashore 
when he caught sight of something which sud- 
denly made him pause. It was nothing very 
formidable ; only a little heap of clothing on a 
broad, flat rock, consisting of a shirt waist, collar 
and necktie, a linen skirt, a pair of tan-colored 
shoes, and some long black hose ; but they 
1 16 


A BARCAROLLA 


caused York to plunge his oar into the sand 
and row rapidly away with his eyes fixed upon 
the glory of Suncook. What an ass he had 
been ! What would she think of him ? He 
might have known that she had come to the 
cove for the same purpose that had brought him. 
He would never be able to look her in the face. 
Yet if she had kept still he would not have 
known of her vicinity. He felt unreasonably 
angry with the singer who tantalized him so with 
her voice, yet so persistently avoided his presence. 
But he would have given considerable if he had 
not sung that song. Looking at it in the cool 
light of common sense, it appeared decidedly 
silly. 

In spite of it all when the evening twilight 
had brought with it some slight coolness, York 
lighted his cigar, and going out the gate turned 
irresistibly in the direction of Farmer Turner’s. 
It would be embarrassing to meet her, but, in 
spite of that, knowing that she had returned, he 
could not keep away. He found Peggy leaning 
on the gate, dressed in cool white muslin. She 
was serenely unconscious of any embarrassing 
encounters, and was enjoying the twilight cool- 
ness, as she watched the heat lightning playing 
around Suncook’s rugged brow. 

ii 7 


SWEET PEGGY 


cc P e ggy> y ou l°°k as cool as though the sun 
had never touched you,” said York, throwing 
away his cigar. “Will you let me in, and allow 
me to sit on your porch, which looks so invitingly 
refreshing ? ” 

“Yes, and finish your cigar, if you like,” said 
Peggy, graciously. “ Father is having his after- 
supper smoke out at the back door, and I know 
it is a sacrifice for you to give up yours.” 

“You are an example to your sex,” said he, 
seating himself under the cool, shady vine leaves. 
“ Leo won’t let me smoke within half a mile of 
her abode. I think that is why I prefer my 
ancestral acres. Your boarder has returned.” 

“ Oh, have you heard of it ? ” said Peggy, in 
surprise. 

“ Yes, I heard of it,” said York, significantly. 
“ Would it be presumptuous to call ? ” 

“ Oh, no, I will go and tell her you are here,” 
and passing by him into the house, Peggy ran up 
the front stairs. 

In a few moments York heard returning foot- 
steps, and rose to receive the lady, schooling his 
face so that nothing should be visible upon it but 
polite interest in a stranger. But Peggy returned 
alone. 

“ She asks that you will excuse her,” said she. 

1 18 


A BARCAROLLA 


<c She has been prostrated by the heat, and has a 
raging headache.” 

“ Well, I can survive her absence,” replied 
York; “and I will p console myself with a cigar, 
since you so kindly give me permission to smoke.” 

He was surprised that he did not feel greater 
disappointment, but the meeting would have been 
embarrassing, and, after all, he did not know but 
that he preferred Peggy. She always fitted in 
with his moods, and he did not have to be 
conventional with her. She looked unusually 
sweet and pensive as she sat with her chin on her 
firm little hand. Her eyes, soft and tender, rested 
on distant Suncook. 

“ What are you thinking of, Peggy ? ” asked 
York, watching her through clouds of tobacco 
smoke. 

“ Of the lightning that played round Sinai when 
Moses went up into the mount, and the children 
of Israel, camped at the foot, were forbidden to 
go near,” said she, in a reverent tone. “ Do you 
suppose it looked as Suncook does now, — with 
a purple-black cloud hanging over it in which 
flashes of lightning darted in and out ? ” 

“ Very likely,” replied York, not looking at 
Suncook, but gazing into the upturned, girlish 
face. cc The ancients did not need anything more 

1 19 


SWEET PEGGY 

to awe and inspire them than nature, which they 
did not understand.” 

“ And we have grown so wise we understand 
all about nature, and it does not awe us,” she re- 
turned. “We know what makes the lightning 
play about Suncook, and do not see God in it at 
all.” 

A sharp click of the gate startled Peggy from 
her dreaming, and prevented York’s reply. A 
figure came up the path with a milk-pail on one 
arm, a cat under- the other, and an old shaker 
on her head. York felt that it was a transition 
from the sublime to the ridiculous to turn from 
Peggy and her dreams about lightning-crowned 
Suncook to Phoebe Howe coming for her nightly 
half-pint of milk. 

“ Holloa, folks,” said she, “ been hot enough 
for you to-day ? ” 

“ Plenty,” replied York, indifferently, taking 
out his cigar. 

“ You look cool enough now,” said she. <c It ’s 
lightnin’, and Pauliny thought I was crazy to 
pick up Milly. She won’t go near her when 
there ’s a thunder-storm, for fear she ’ll draw the 
lightnin’, but I ain’t afraid ; am I, Milly ? ” 

York watched lazily as she held up the cat, 
paws extended, and gave her a little shake. 

I 20 


A BARCAROLLA 


“Think there's goin’ to be a tempest? ” she 
inquired. 

cc No, it’s only heat lightning," York assured 
her. 

“ I hope there won’t be one ; Pauliny always 
acts so," she replied. “ The other night when it 
thundered and lightened she had an awful time ; 
she kept callin’ me to come to her ; but the door 
was locked on her side, and she would n’t get up 
and unlock it, for fear she ’d get struck. We had 
an awful time ; did n’t we, Milly ? Your ma in ? ’’ 

“ Yes, she is out in the kitchen," Peggy replied, 
and with a cheerful “ Good-bye ’’ Phoebe vanished 
around the corner of the house. 

cc That woman strikes me as a blot on the 
landscape," York remarked. cc She can’t be said 
to be exactly picturesque.” 

“ She is a woman who deserves a great deal of 
credit," Peggy declared. <c She has to just pick 
up her living, but she is always cheery and bright, 
although she never has any fun and never goes 
anywhere." 

“She goes to Jerusalem," remarked York. 

Peggy gave him a little scornful glance. 

“Of course you wouldn’t see anything in her 
to admire," said she, “ because she is no longer 
young, and wears flimsy old calico dresses, and 


SWEET PEGGY 


horrid old shakers. You see nothing below the 
surface : you think only the young and beautiful 
are deserving of pity, and that forlorn old maids 
are only blots on the landscape.” 

Taking off his hat, York bent low his head. 

“ I bow before your scorn,” said he, meekly. 
“ It flashes sharper than Suncook. I repent me 
of my hasty speech, and hereafter I will duly 
admire Miss Howe, even to the pink bow,” he 
added wickedly. 

“ I think the pink bow is pathetic,” said Peggy, 
soberly, “ for it shows how she admires bright 
pretty things. I often wish that I were rich, so 
that I could do something for such people.” 

“ What would you do ? ” asked York, thinking 
the side of her character Peggy was showing that 
evening both sweet and interesting. 

“ I would give Phoebe Howe and Pauline 
Lowell a real good time,” she replied, — “ a good 
time such as they would hugely enjoy. I don’t 
believe they have had one for years.” 

“What would it consist of?” York asked 
curiously. 

“ Let me see,” said Peggy, thoughtfully, “ what 
would they enjoy most? I think I would take 
them somewhere on the train, where they would 
see lots of people and be able to go into the stores 


A BAI1CAROLLA 

and look around and be in the midst of life and 
bustle/’ 

“Would Phoebe wear the shaker and take the 
cat, do you think? ” he inquired. 

cc I would n’t care what she wore,” Peggy de- 
clared. <c I would n’t be ashamed to be seen with 
her.” 

cc I find great difficulty in disposing of any 
surplus cash here in Cathance,” York said sud- 
denly. “ Suppose you and I go to Mountfort 
some day ; we can make up a party, and take 
Phoebe and Pauline along with us.” 

“ Will you really ? ” cried Peggy, turning her 
bright, eager face toward him. 

“ I ’ll go if you will,” he replied. cc I would n’t 
go a step alone.” 

“ You are just lovely ! ” the girl exclaimed in 
delight. 

<c Thank you,” he replied. “ I ’m glad you 
think so. A while ago I thought you did n’t. 
When shall we go ? You can make the plans 
and invite the ladies.” 

“ No,” Peggy declared ; “ you must ask them 
yourself. They will think so much more of the 
invitation if you give it yourself. When shall 
we go ? Let me see, Thursday will be a good 
day, for the washing and ironing will be out of 
123 


SWEET PEGGY 


the way, and they can cook Wednesday. We 
will give them an electric car ride : I don ’t be- 
lieve either of them have ever seen the electrics. 
Won’t it be fun ? ” 

“ I begin to feel interested in the project,” 
York declared. “We’ll spare no expense, but 
do it up brown ; but who is this coming to inter- 
rupt our plans ? ” 

A figure loomed out of the purple shadows ; 
the gate clicked, and some one came up the path. 

“ It ’s John,” said Peggy, in a tone that York 
congratulated himself she had not used when he 
first made his own appearance. 

John Thompson approached, surveying the 
singing fellow, who was leaning back against the 
porch at Peggy’s side, with a frown that was not 
visible in the twilight. 

“ Mr. Gray ’s looking for you,” said he to 
York as soon as he returned Peggy’s good- 
evening. 

“ Is he ? ” said that gentleman, indifferently. 

He knew that he was occupying the place the 
new-comer longed above all else to fill, but he 
had no intention of taking himself out of the 
way, nor had he any pity for the poor young 
fellow. Peggy must not be allowed to throw 
herself away on John Thompson. 

124 


A BARCAROLLA 


cc He wants to see you about that calf/' John 
continued. <c If he ’s going to butcher it, he 
wants to look at it.” 

<c Eben Doolittle will be delighted to show it 
to him,” York replied without stirring. 

“ I would n’t allow him to sell a calf of 
mine,” John declared. “He’ll cheat as sure as 
preaching.” 

“ Oh, I dare say,” said York, easily, “ that is 
what Eben enjoys. It would be a pity not to 
give him an opportunity to indulge in it.” 

John turned from him in disgust and directed 
his conversation to Peggy. If he could not 
get rid of the singer he would ignore him, as the 
heroes in books with killing black eyes ignored 
their rivals. But although York sat silent, 
quietly smoking his cigar, he was not ignored. 
John was conscious of his presence in every nerve 
of his body, and could not feel at ease while 
that motionless, indolent figure was leaning 
back against the steps. Neither was Peggy as 
gracious as she might have been. Poor John felt 
keenly that he was the one who was not wanted. 
He had not been there long before Farmer 
Turner came out on the steps, and, with a hearty 
greeting to the young people, established himself 
in his favorite chair. He had kept out of the way 
125 


SWEET PEGGY 


while York was alone with Peggy, John bitterly 
reflected, but his appearance was always a signal 
for the whole family to gather. He felt that he 
was ill-fated, and giving up his conversational at- 
tempts the sore-hearted young man lapsed into 
gloomy silence. 


Chapter X 
A PRELUDE 


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“ 'T OU ’LL have to come round to the 
j back door : Phoebe ’s gone off with the 
A key.” 

This was the salutation that greeted York as 
he walked up the path to the joint residence of 
the Misses Lowell and Howe. It came from 
Pauline, whose smooth black head was thrust 
out of the front window. Following her direc- 
tions, York walked around the house, where 
he was received by his hostess at the side 
door. 

“ It ’s an insult, a gross insult,” she declared, 
“ to have to receive a caller, and a gentleman 
caller, at the back door. Phoebe has no right 
to the key ; she took it while my back was 
turned ; locked the door and went off before I 
knew what she was up to. That is a Howe 
I2 7 


SWEET PEGGY 


trick : they ’re all sly. I would n’t trust any of 
’em any farther than I can see ’em. I hope, 
Mr. York, you ’ll make allowances.” 

“ Oh, don’t mention it,” said York, easily, 
taking the rocking-chair with the red-and-black 
cushion which she drew up for him. c< It is of 
no consequence. I shall never give it another 
thought.” 

“ You are really too good,” said Pauline, deeply 
impressed at having a gentleman, and such a 
gentleman, seated in her little sitting-room. “ No- 
body knows what a trial it is to have to live in 
the house with a woman like Phoebe Howe.” 

York looked his sympathy, and his hostess 
went on : — 

“ I would n’t do it, but I can’t stay alone. You 
know it would be very unsafe.” 

cc It certainly would,” York assured her. 
“ Every woman should have a protector.” 

Pauline smiled and looked pleased ; it was so 
gratifying to be understood. 

“ When I got my money I thought I ’d be 
able to go somewheres else,” she went on, “ but 
I could n’t find a place where I ’d be better off 
for so little money. One has to be prudent, you 
know, Mr. York, for we don’t know how long 
we may have to live.” 


128 


A PRELUDE 

cc It would be a great convenience if we did,” 
York gravely replied. 

“That’s what I ’ve said a hundred times,” 
exclaimed Pauline. “ When I got my money I 
said if I only knew whether I ’d die before the 
year was out I ’d take it and go to the World’s 
Fair, but I did n’t dare run the risk, for fear I 
might live. I always have lived, but if I ’d died 
that year, I ’d have been mad enough.” 

“ It would have been a great pity,” said York, 
gravely, “ not to have spent the money under 
those circumstances.” 

“ You see I would n’t have got any good out 
of it,” she explained ; “ but it ’s just as well, for I 
have n’t died yet.” 

“ For which we are all very grateful,” said 
York, politely. “You may live to enjoy other 
pleasures. I have come to ask you to share 
one with me next Thursday.” 

“Now, really, Mr. York,” exclaimed Pauline, 
both pleased and flattered, “you are really too 
kind.” 

“ I have to go to Mountfort on business,” he 
went on, “ and thought that it would be pleasant 
to make up a party. Peggy Turner wants to do 
some shopping, and suggested that you might 
like to go for the same object. I should be 
9 129 


SWEET PEGGY 


much pleased to have Miss Howe and you with 
us on the trip.” 

“ Now, really, Mr. York, you are dretful kind,” 
said Pauline, quite excited by the prospect. “ So 
thoughtful, too. Very few young men would 
have thought of makin’ up a party that way, 
but it will make it much pleasanter.” 

“ Then you will go,” said York, rising. “ May 
I leave my message for Miss Howe with 
you ? ” 

“ Yes, I ’ll tell her ; she would n’t like to 
miss it.” 

“ Farmer Turner will take us to the station,” 
York continued. “He will call for you at six in 
the morning. We shall have to make an early 
start in order to catch the train.” 

“ I ’ll be ready ; six o’clock ain’t so very early 
these long days.” 

Accompanying her guest to the side door with 
many apologies for her spotless kitchen and com- 
plaints of the sly, unprincipled Phoebe, Pauline 
bade him good-by, then went back to await with 
great impatience her housemate’s return. She 
was burning with a desire to impart the great 
news, and scolded sharply to herself because 
Phoebe delayed her coming. At last she ap- 
peared, walking leisurely up the path, her arms full 


A PRELUDE 


of green stuff from the woods, whither she had 
been, attired in a short calico skirt, old stout 
shoes, and the ever-present shaker. Unlocking 
the door, she came in, to be met in the hall by- 
Pauline with something so important written on 
her face that she forgot to take Phoebe to task 
for going off with the key. 

<c Well, what is it? ” demanded Phoebe, depos- 
iting her greenery inside her own door. Pauline 
would not have allowed it to remain in the hall 
for a moment. 

“ You ’d never guess what’s happened,” an- 
nounced Pauline, mysteriously. “ Somebody ’s 
been here, and of course I had to show him in at 
the side door. I was so mortified havin’ to take 
a gentleman round through the kitchen.” 

“ I suppose it was only Mr. Gray after the 
rent,” said Phoebe, who would have died before 
she would have confessed to any curiosity. 

“ Mr. Gray ! ” said Pauline, with unutterable 
scorn. “ I guess Mr. Gray does n’t have bea-u- 
ti-ful dark eyes, handsome white teeth, and sing 
like an angel.” 

“ Oh, it was Mr. York, was it? ” said Phoebe, 
indifferently. “What did he want? ” 

“ You ’d never guess,” declared her companion, 
“ He made a long call, and was so interested in 
13 1 


SWEET PEGGY 


everything. He’s one of the nicest young men 
I Ve ever seen. To think of his takin’ all that 
pains and trouble ; there ain’t many who ’d do it. 
So thoughtful, too. I ’ve been wantin’ a net for 
my back hair this long while, and I can’t get one 
in Greenville. He must have noticed how I 
need one ; he ’s so observin’.” 

Phoebe’s curiosity was all aroused by these 
mysterious hints, but she would not gratify her 
companion by asking questions, so, pretending 
great indifference, she opened the door for the 
cat, saying, — 

<c Come in, Milly. Begin to think it ’s supper 
time, don’t you ? Well, we ’ll have the fire made 
and the kettle on in a jiffy.” 

<c I thought you ’d be interested to know what 
Mr. York came for,” said Pauline, following her 
into the kitchen. 

cc I s’pose he wanted some mendin’ done,” 
said Phoebe, indifferently, as she filled the kettle. 
“ Mercy Palmer can’t darn any better than a cat; 
can she, Milly ? ” 

cc Mendin’ done ! ” exclaimed Pauline. “ As 
though a young man would be so polite and nice 
if he only wanted his stockin’s darned ! He sat 
and talked just like an old friend, sayin’ how he 
knew we’d like to do some shoppin’ at Mount- 
132 


A PRELUDE 


fort. Peggy ’s going to do some, and that ’s how 
he come to think of us.” 

cc Asked us to go to Mountfort, did he ? ” said 
Phoebe, pricking up her ears. “ Is he goin’ to 
pay the bills ? ” 

“ Of course,” Pauline replied. “ When a gen- 
tleman asks ladies to go anywhere with him, he 
expects to pay the bills.” 

<c When 's he goin' ? ” asked Phoebe, no longer 
able to pretend indifference. 

Reluctantly Pauline told her of the arrange- 
ments, and immediately a series of discussions was 
begun in regard to the preparations for so impor- 
tant an event as an all-day's absence from home. 
There were the questions of locking up the house, 
disposing of the cat, and the all-important one of 
what should be worn to be decided. The cat 
was the serious obstacle. Should Milly be shut 
in or out of the house? How should food be 
left so that she and no other cat or dog should 
get at it, and how was she to be made to under- 
stand that if two plates of victuals were left in her 
usual feeding-place she was to eat only one in the 
morning and leave the other until noon. This 
question was gone over again and again, until 
Pauline unfeelingly remarked that the cat was 
more bother than she was worth. The subject 
i33 


SWEET PEGGY 


of toilets was finally laid before Peggy, who, re- 
membering York’s fastidious taste, suggested that 
they both wear their very best. 

<c But suppose it should rain,” objected Pauline. 
“ I could n’t afford to ruin my best dress. I 
may want it again.” 

“ It won’t rain,” declared Peggy ; cc it has n’t 
rained this summer.” 

“ But travellin’ ruins one’s clothes,” urged 
Pauline, who had never undertaken a journey of 
a hundred miles in her life. <c I would n’t want 
to get the ribbon in my best bonnet all dust.” 

<c I tell you what I will do,” said Peggy, struck 
with a brilliant thought. “ I will trim you up 
a couple of hats. I have stacks of millinery 
stuff, and it will save wearing your own.” 

This satisfied both ladies, especially Phoebe, 
who was always glad to get something new that 
cost her nothing, and as a result each had a plain, 
attractive hat for the trip, which drew no atten- 
tion and relieved York’s mind. He had dreaded 
the red roses and pink bow, but thanks to Peggy’s 
tact and ingenuity neither of them appeared to 
shock his fastidious eye. 

The evening before the great day found them 
both in a state of subdued excitement, watching 
the sky, which was a deep red all over the west, 
*34 


A PRELUDE 


against which the black summit of Suncook was 
outlined like an impregnable fortress against a 
glowing flame. 

<c Red at night, sailor’s delight,” quoted Phoebe, 
cheerfully. 

cc Red sunset is a sure sign of rain within 
twenty-four hours,” added Pauline, ominously. 

cc I suppose the farmers would be glad enough 
to see it rain,” replied Phoebe. “ There hasn’t 
been such a drought since eighty-one, when 
Michigan burned up.” 

“ Well, it might last one day longer,” snapped 
Pauline, resentfully. “ One day would n’t make 
such a sight of difference. If Farmer Turner 
wants rain to save his potatoes, Mr. York ought 
to have given us our invitation a week ago.” 

cc Oh, rain won’t hurt us,” said Phoebe, cheer- 
fully, whose good spirits nothing could dampen. 
cc I ’m neither sugar nor salt, nor ain’t goin’ to 
wear anything to spile.” 

cc Everything will be spoiled if it rains,” Pau- 
line declared. I’ll get cold and be sick the rest 
of the summer. I ’ll take some Specific to-night 
as a preventative.” 

What with rising every half-hour to watch the 
weather, and keeping an eye on the clock lest 
she should oversleep and not be ready when 
i35 


SWEET PEGGY 


Farmer Turner called in the morning, Pauline 
got no rest, nor did she permit her companion to 
have any. She even unlocked the door between 
her room and Phoebe’s, for she felt that the 
whole responsibility rested upon her. Although 
Phoebe was stirring every morning at five o’clock, 
causing Pauline to complain that she could not 
get any sleep after sunrise, this morning she felt 
sure Phoebe would not be up in time unless she 
kept watch and wake. 

The sky was a dim, soft gray all night without 
stars or moon, but Pauline’s anxious watch was 
rewarded by the appearance of a bright stripe of 
azure in the northwest, about three o’clock, 
which was soon flushed with pink as the morn- 
ing began to break. Then from the elm-tree 
outside the window came a rustle and a faint 
twitter, and soon Phoebe’s young rooster, with 
clarion voice, announced that it was day. The 
gray curtain folded back ; the pink stripe grew 
wider and brighter; until at last the great golden 
sun appeared, and the farmer, going out early to 
attend to his stock, cast a wise eye along the 
horizon and announced another hot day. 

With the sun rose Pauline. She did not want 
to feel hurried, so she meant to take plenty of 
time to dress and get her breakfast. Phoebe 
136 


A PRELUDE 


might lie in bed if she wanted to ; she was not 
going to keep Farmer Turner waiting, nor run 
any risks of losing that train. Five o’clock found 
her seated with her bonnet on, surrounded with 
her bags and bundles : her mind at rest in the 
thought that if the train should run off of the 
track, the boiler burst, or any catastrophe happen 
which would cause her to be brought home in 
pieces, or not be brought home at all, her house 
would be found in perfect order, and all her 
belongings able to stand the sharpest scrutiny. 
She had hand baggage enough for a journey 
around the world, for she was going prepared for 
all possible changes of weather. She had rubbers 
and umbrella in case it should rain, a thick shawl 
to put on should there be a fall in the temperature, a 
sunshade to keep off the sun, a capacious shop- 
ping bag to hold her purchases, and a lunch done 
up in a paper bag, in case, on account of her 
early breakfast, she should feel faint before noon. 
She was greatly exercised because Phoebe, instead 
of being dressed and ready, was frisking about as 
usual, as though no journey into an unknown 
world lay before her. It was after five, and yet, 
in the old calico and shaker, she was feeding the 
hens, cc goin’ about her accustomed tasks,” as 
Pauline expressed it, “ as though she had until 
*37 


SWEET PEGGY 


doomsday to get ready in.” She would keep 
Mr. Turner waiting ; they would miss the train ; 
Mr. York’s important business at Mountfort 
would be delayed ; and the excursion would have 
to be given up. By a quarter of six Pauline had 
worked herself up to a state of nervous excite- 
ment bordering on collapse ; but when the large 
double wagon drove up with Farmer Turner for 
charioteer and York and Peggy on the back seat, 
Phoebe appeared with every pin in place. An 
old-fashioned bag, to hold her purchases was on 
one arm, and a black knit shawl on the other ; 
and she was in the wagon before Pauline could 
recover her scattered senses sufficiently to lock 
her door. 

“ Well, Pauline, how far you going ? ” asked 
the farmer, watching York as he stowed away the 
shawl, bags, and umbrella. cc You Ve got bag- 
gage enough for atrip to Europe. What do you 
want of those rubbers ? ” 

“ I took ’em for fear it would rain,” answered 
Pauline, struggling with her sunshade. “ I should 
get my death if I got my feet damp, and you 
never know what may happen on a journey. 
It’s safest to be prepared for all kinds of 
weather.” 

“Well, if your umbrella will fetch a rain, I 
138 


A PRELUDE 


wish you ’d spread it,” said the farmer. “ I ’d 
like to see a soaker. All aboard ? ” 

“All aboard,” replied York, taking his seat 
beside Peggy and her father. 

<c Good-by, Milly,” called out Phoebe to the 
cat, who was gravely washing her face on the front 
steps, as with a flourish of the whip Farmer Tur- 
ner started up his steed, and the carriage gayly 
rattled off up the hill. 


139 


Chapter XI 
A FESTIVAL CHORUS 





tJ 





-r 1 ~ II 






T HE new day was very fresh and beautiful; 

the sun, whose golden light was illumi- 
nating gray old Hoary-Head, had not 
yet begun to give out its fervid heat. The birds, 
right jubilant, were pouring bursts of melody from 
their little throats. Greenville, about three miles 
from Cathance, boasted of a railroad station, a 
store and post-office combined, and some houses 
scattered up and down a steep, irregular street. 
It was a little hamlet shut in by hills through 
which the iron horse thundered, awakening the 
sleeping echoes, and startling the cows peace- 
fully feeding alongside the track. 

The arrival of the local train which stopped at 
Greenville for mail and passengers was a signal for 
140 


A FESTIVAL CHORUS 

the entire population to gather at the station, so 
when Farmer Turner drove down the last rocky 
hill to draw up with a flourish by the platform, 
there were plenty to watch the arrival. Men and 
boys were sitting about outside, whittling and 
talking, while inside were the women and girls 
who had left their work and come to the station 
to see the cars go by. 

Farmer Turner was well known all the country 
round, so his arrival caused quite a stir among the 
men and boys, while the women stared curiously 
out of the window at the party. While York 
was getting the tickets, Pauline counted up her 
articles of baggage, then, finding everything safe, 
seated herself just inside the door ready to start 
the minute she heard the whistle blow. Phoebe 
amused herself by roaming all over the station, 
reading all the notices, peering curiously into the 
window where York was getting the tickets, and 
getting all the enjoyment she could out of every- 
thing as she went along. 

There was a moment of intense excitement as 
the train thundered up, pausing for an instant 
beside the platform. Pauline was sure they 
would get left as the urgent “ All aboard ” fell on 
her ears. Hurrying to the train, she protested 
the brakeman’s right to take her baggage away 


SWEET PEGGY 


from her, and would have denounced him as a 
robber had not York taken her luggage in hand 
and marshalled her into the car, where Phoebe 
was already seated, bolt upright beside a window 
with an exceedingly wide-awake expression upon 
her face. Turning over the back of a seat, York 
placed himself beside Peggy, opposite his two 
guests, with the air of one resigned to his lot. 

<c What is it. Miss Lowell ? Have you lost 
something ? ” he asked, seeing her fumbling about 
among her possessions. 

“ My rubbers ; I knew that man meant to steal 
’em, and they were a new pair I have n’t had on 
my feet yet.” 

“Here they are,” said Peggy. “I put them 
in the rack ; see, here they are, all right.” 

“ I believe it is now time to begin to enjoy 
ourselves,” said York. “ That is what we are 
here for.” 

“ Pauliny does n’t know how to enjoy herself,” 
remarked Phoebe. 

“ The idea ! ” exclaimed Pauline, indignantly. 
“ Say in’ I ain’t enjoyin’ myself when Mr. York 
is so kind as to take us on this excursion ! Of 
course I ’m enjoyin’ myself, but no one would 
want their property taken right out of their 
hands.” 


42 


A FESTIVAL CHORUS 


“ It is all right now,” said Peggy, soothingly. 
“ Look at the scenery. Is n't it grand ? ” 

The cars were thundering down through the 
mountains, tearing along through a wild, mag- 
nificent gorge on a slender track which wound 
along like a thread on the side of a granite ledge. 
Above them towered the mighty hills, while 
thousands of feet below was a deep ravine filled 
with the mighty giants of the forest, torn and 
twisted, huge boulders, and a mountain torrent 
which was now nothing but a trickling stream. 

“ Is n’t it grand ? ” exclaimed Peggy, turning 
her glowing face toward her companions. <c The 
old stage-coaches used to come down these moun- 
tains drawn by six horses. That was the poetry 
of travel.” 

“ It does n’t seem safe to go so fast,” said 
Pauline, peeping fearfully out of the window. 
“ Had n’t you better speak to the conductor 
about it, Mr. York ? ” 

<c They know what they ’re about,” spoke up 
Phoebe. <c They come down here every day.” 

It was hard to realize that what was so strange 
and wonderful to them was an every-day occur- 
rence. The passengers scattered through the car 
had the bored expression of the travelling public. 
The men read their papers or slept ; the women 
* 43 


SWEET PEGGY 


perused their novels, or now and then looked indif- 
ferently out of the window, as they remembered 
that the scenery was considered particularly fine 
on that road. Soon, the mountain gorges left 
behind, the train ran out over some rolling farm- 
lands ; a river sparkled under the sun ; towns and 
villages appeared ; and people got on and off at 
the different stations. The cars grew hot, for it 
was drawing toward the middle of the day, and 
Pauline began to fear lest they should come to 
Mountfort and not get off. The brakeman 
mumbled his words so she could n’t for the life 
of her tell what he was saying. 

At last, the train running into a long dark 
building with towering brick walls on each side, 
even Pauline was convinced that their destination 
was reached. It was hotter than ever, and when 
he got his party into the waiting-room, York 
began to wonder if there was another man living 
who was as great a fool as himself. 

“See here, Peggy,” said he, drawing the girl 
aside, “what comes next? This is pleasure, you 
know. I ’m not going to spare expense, and I 
will carry the thing through if it kills me, but 
I ’m beginning to think that I am either a fool or 
a martyr.” 

“You look like a martyr,” said Peggy, survey- 
H4- 


A FESTIVAL CHORUS 


ing him critically, Cf you have looked like one ever 
since we started.” 

“ You look like a daisy,” he retorted, gazing at 
the girl before him who looked delightfully fresh 
and dainty in her white muslin shirt waist and 
cool gray skirt. “ How do you manage to keep 
so cool ? I ’m boiling, but martyrs are usually 
uncomfortably warm. What comes next ? En- 
lighten your victim.” 

“You must attend to your business,” said 
Peggy, significantly. “ You are going to look at 
some agricultural tools and see about a market 
for your potatoes.” 

“ Oh, am I ? ” said he, meekly. 

“Yes, and we are going shopping,” she 
finished. 

“ Peggy, you are an angel,” he exclaimed. 
“ Are you going to take the whole burden of 
the shopping? That is too much,” he added 
with compunction. 

“ No, it is n't,” she declared. “ We are going 
to shop, and don’t want our minds distracted by a 
masculine escort, so we’ll part until half-past 
twelve, when we ’ll meet at Parkman’s for lun- 
cheon ; ” and not waiting for his expression of 
gratitude, she left him with a gay nod and went 
back to their guests. 

IO i 


45 


SWEET PEGGY 


The stores were hot and dose, but to the two 
women from the country they were Elysian Fields. 
Phoebe, especially, enjoyed them. Peggy let her 
follow her own will and pleasure, waiting good- 
naturedly while she looked into the windows, and 
standing patiently by while she examined the rich 
and costly fabrics far beyond the limits of her 
meagre purse. Phoebe had brought with her the 
munificent sum of twenty-five cents to squander 
on things not absolutely necessary to her well- 
being, and the spending of that quarter gave her 
more real satisfaction and pleasure than twenty- 
five dollars would have furnished her companion. 
Pauline had brought a crisp, new five-dollar bill, 
but when she found herself in the stores she 
could not bear to break it. Nothing quite suited 
her, and with the exception of the old-fashioned 
hair net, which Peggy patiently sought under diffi- 
culties, Pauline's shopping bag was empty ; while 
on the other hand Phoebe repaired to the restau- 
rant the happy possessor of a twelve-cent hand- 
kerchief, a ten-cent necktie, and a three-cent 
beauty pin. 

They found York at the appointed place, and 
seating his party at one of the little tables he gave 
lavish orders for all the delicacies of the season. 
If the stores had been Elysian Fields, the restau- 
146 


A FESTIVAL CHORUS 


rant was a genie s palace, with its revolving fans 
cooling the air, its deft-handed waiters moving so 
quietly about, the ice clinking in the glasses, and 
the mounds of pink and white ice-cream complet- 
ing the most elaborate bill-of-fare of which the 
two Cathance women had ever partaken. Deter- 
mined to leave nothing undone, York next con- 
veyed his party to an electric car, which carried 
them around the city, giving them a view of all 
the principal sights, and adding the finishing 
touch to a day never to be forgotten by the two 
lonely women whose pleasures in life had been 
few and far between. 

The afternoon was drawing to a close when 
once more they, found themselves in the railroad 
station. The cars were full ; and, after finding 
Pauline and Phoebe a seat together, York dropped 
into one by the door beside Peggy with a sigh of 
relief and satisfaction. 

“ Peggy,” said he, solemnly, “ when you lay 
your head upon your pillow to-night you can re- 
flect with satisfaction that you have performed 
one good action : you saved me from the shop- 
ping expedition.” 

“How about you?” she asked. “Haven’t 
you performed one good action ? ” 

“ I ? ” he repeated. “ Oh, I have only fol- 
H7 


SWEET PEGGY 


lowed your instructions. Do you suppose I 
would have piloted those two old women about 
if it had n’t been for you ? ” 

“ Still, if they have enjoyed it they owe it to 
you,” said she, soberly. “ I could n’t have done 
it alone.” 

“ We are partners in good works,” he replied. 
“ I wonder if the people in this car realize what a 
pair of philanthropists they are having the honor 
to travel with. But do you think they have 
had a good time ? ” he added doubtfully. 

“Splendid!” Peggy declared. “It will last 
them the rest of their lives to think about and 
talk over.” 

“Well, it doesn’t take much to make some 
people happy,” said he. “ They should be an 
example to us discontented ones. What would 
make you as happy as you think they have 
been ? ” 

“ If I were a good little girl in a Sunday-school 
book, I should say my happiness consisted in 
giving them theirs.” 

“ That ’s dodging the question,” York declared. 
“ You are not an unnatural Sunday-school book 
saint, but are delightfully human. Now tell me 
your idea of a real good time.” 

“ A symphony concert, a course of tickets for 


A FESTIVAL CHORUS 


the grand opera, and a year of musical study in 
Germany,” she rattled off. 

York looked at her in surprise, for he had no 
idea that the little country girl had such aspirations. 

<c I 'm afraid I can't indulge you up here in 
Cathance,” he replied, “ but if I ever meet you in 
New York I 'll remember. But what do you know 
about symphony concerts and grand operas ? '' 

“ You forget that I have lived all summer with 
a voice,” she replied. 

“True ! ” he exclaimed. “ I forgot the voice, 
it seems so much like a myth. I suppose she 
knows everything that goes on. What does she 
think of our expedition to-day ? ” 

<£ She thinks it was very kind of you to do it,” 
replied Peggy, promptly. “ She admires you 
almost as much as Pauline does.” 

“ Hum ! ” said York, doubtfully. “ Why 
won't she let me see her, then ? ” 

“ She does n't avoid you,” Peggy replied ; “ it 
is circumstances that keep you apart.” 

“ Circumstances ! humbug!” York retorted. 
C£ Circumstances alone would not keep two people 
apart in a little place like Cathance. Circum- 
stances would bump us up against each other 
two or three times a week.” 

“ Then it is fate,” said Peggy, in a sentimental 
H9 


SWEET PEGGY 


tone. cc Fate has decreed that you should be 
kept apart, only hearing each other’s voices 
and never seeing each other’s faces. I think it is 
very romantic.” 

“ You have instituted yourself our fate, have n’t 
you ? ” said York, looking quizzically down into 
his companion’s face. 

“ I ? ” said Peggy, innocently. “ What object 
could I have in keeping you apart ? I think it 
very unfair of you to attribute such horrid 
motives to me.” 

“ Forgive me, Peggy,” said York, penitently. 
“ It is shabby of me, I confess ; but this lady is so 
mysterious that I am half tempted to believe that 
it is only a voice imprisoned among the hills and 
heard only by those kindred souls capable of 
appreciating it.” 

“ A phonograph, perhaps,” said Peggy, 
wickedly. 

“It is cruel of you, Peggy,” said York, re- 
proachfully, “ to make fun of my romantic 
notions.” 

“ No, but really,” said Peggy, earnestly, “ I 
don’t know why she would not see you the other 
night when you called. She did not say any- 
thing about a headache until she saw you coming. 
That seemed to bring it on.” 

1 5 ° 


A FESTIVAL CHORUS 


“ Oh, it did,” responded York, in a queer tone. 
“Well, perhaps I did give her a headache that 
day. But if she refuses to see me the next time 
I call, you will not be able to convince me there 
is not some mystery about her.” 


5 1 


Chapter XII 
A NOCTURNE 



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T HE Indians had named it the Kwap- 
skitchwock (canoe-no-walk) because 
when they darted down the stream in 
their slender, birch-bark canoes, the eddies some- 
times whirled their frail crafts against the rocks 
with which the current was interspersed. Swiftly 
and silently they used to speed between the two 
lakes, Cathance on the south and Pocamoonshine 
on the north, sharing the solitude of the forest 
with the deer and bison and with the grizzly 
bear and the hungry wolf, whose threatening howl 
on still winter nights used to make the early set- 
tler shudder. But slender, swarthy Indian and 
hungry wolf have long vanished ; and the forest, 
152 


A NOCTURNE 


vast and still, knows no inmate but the graceful 
deer, which, coming down to the water to drink, 
lifts its head to listen for any unusual sound to 
send it speeding back to its forest refuge. The 
Kwapskitchwock still winds in and out through 
the forest, guarded by the sheltering hills, now 
stretching out into shining pools where lurk the 
speckled trout, now drawing itself together to 
steal under the shade of steep banks whose 
tangled masses of foliage dip down to kiss the 
stream. Here the water is dark and still, as 
though some mystery cast its shadow over it, 
but around the next bend it flashes out into the 
sunshine a laughing, dimpling stream again. 

One beautiful August day the solitude of the 
Kwapskitchwock was rudely broken by a couple 
of boats which entered it from Lake Cathance and 
navigated its winding course to where it lost 
itself in Pocamoonshine’s waters. Heavily laden 
boats they were, very unlike the light birch- 
bark canoes which used to shoot up and down 
from lake to lake. One, a large, flat-bottomed 
craft, bearing the name of “ Uncas” on its stern, 
was loaded with all sorts of camping utensils, 
from two large tents stowed away in the bottom 
to the blackened, snub-nosed coffee-pot which on 
the top of a pile of bedding bore the look of 
1 53 


SWEET PEGGY 


having seen better days. This craft was rowed 
by John Thompson and steered by Farmer 
Turner, who, reposing in the stern in his shirt 
sleeves, looked the embodiment of satisfaction as 
he gazed around on the familiar scene which he 
had traversed ever since he was a boy and used 
to go fishing in the Kwapskitchwock. 

John did not look as happy and satisfied with 
his lot as did his companion. Pulling at his oars 
with a long sweep which sent the “ Uncas,” heavily 
laden as she was, swiftly through the water, his 
eyes were fixed with a scowl on the boat which 
was following close behind. The “ Water-Witch” 
bore the ladies, three in number. In the bow 
sat Mrs. Nelson, leaning back against a cushion, 
gazing with delight at the rich and varied beauty 
of the banks by which they were gliding. In 
the stern sat Mrs. Turner, knitting as calmly as 
though in her own rocking-chair at home, her 
fingers busy while her eyes took in with delight 
the beauties of the dear, familiar scene. Beside 
her sat Peggy, the rudder ropes in her hand. 
She had steered up and down the Kwapskitchwock 
ever since she was a child, and knew its devious 
course as well as did her father. It had always 
been John's privilege to row Peggy's boat, and 
now his blackest looks were directed toward York, 
1 54 


A NOCTURNES 


who held the oars. Why was it taken for granted 
that the singing fellow would row the “ Water- 
Witch ” ? Why was he sent off with Farmer 
Turner, and York given the coveted place op- 
posite Peggy ? He could see the girl smiling 
and dimpling at the singing fellow's talk, and 
longed to break his oar over York’s defenceless 
head. 

The Turners were bound on their annual 
blueberrying expedition. The farmer and his 
wife always combined business with pleasure. 
They would not have dreamed of camping out 
and living gypsy fashion in the woods without 
an object. The object was blueberries. To 
get their berries to preserve for winter was what 
sent them up the Kwapskitchwock. The farmer, 
placidly smoking his pipe in one boat, his wife 
knitting her stocking in the other, would not 
have confessed to any other reason for their 
present position. 

Where the stream opened into the Pocamoon- 
shine they came upon a beautiful clearing, — an 
old field, surrounded by the limitless forest and 
guarded by impregnable mountains. The tall, 
rank grass was nearly choked out by the hardy 
blueberry bushes. Seen in spring it was a deli- 
cate pale pink, like the first faint flush of dawn, 
i55 


SWEET PEGGY 


but now in August so thick were the clusters of 
berries on the low scrubby bushes that it was a 
dark, rich purple. Here the Turners came year 
after year. The cleared place marked the position 
of their tents, and the blackened spot showed 
where their camp-fires had burned. 

As soon as the boats were unloaded the farmer 
and John went to work with the ease gained from 
experience, and when the tents were raised Mrs. 
Turner, with her gown tucked up, went about 
preparing the evening meal over the camp-fire as 
handily as though she were in her own kitchen at 
home. The sun was hanging, a ball of red fire, 
over the bald gray summit of High-Head as they 
gathered around the table-cloth spread out on 
the ground at the door of the tents. 

<c What were you telling me about this being 
an old Indian field, Mr. Turner ? ” asked York, 
as he deftly opened a can of sardines. “ Did 
the Indians once live here? ” 

“ Yes,” the farmer replied ; cc a tribe of Indians 
cleared up this lot and cultivated it.” 

“ Do you mean that it was once all forest ? ” 
asked Mrs. Nelson, in surprise. 

“ All forest like that we have come through,” 
the farmer replied, “until this tribe of Indians 
came. They cleared it up, laid it down to 
156 


A NOCTURNE 


Indian corn, and lived here for years. The 
remnant of them were here when I was a 
boy.” 

“ Genuine Indians were they, with wigwams 
and scalps ? ” asked York. 

“ I don't know about the scalps,” the farmer 
replied, “but the wigwams were all right.” 

“ They named the lakes and streams, I sup- 
pose,” said Mrs. Nelson, thoughtfully. “ How 
musical they are ! — Cathance, Pocamoonshine, 
Kwapskitchwock.” 

“ They all mean something,” said Peggy. “ Do 
you know how they name their babies? ” 

“No, tell us,” said Mrs. Nelson, smiling at the 
girl. 

“ When they take them out the first thing the 
baby's eyes rest upon gives it its name,” Peggy 
replied. “ The chief of the tribe who lived here 
was Rain-in-th e-face. It was on a rainy day that 
he was first taken out, you see.” 

“Very romantic, but rather inconvenient for 
us pale-faces,” remarked York. “ I 'm afraid I 
should have had the misfortune to be dubbed 
Lamp-post or Brick-wall. I 'm sure one or the 
other must have been the first thing my infant 
eyes lighted on.” 

“ But in the musical Indian tongue it would 
G7 


SWEET PEGGY 


have sounded very different,” said Peggy. “ I 
have often wished I could study the Indian lan- 
guage, it is so musical.” 

“You study enough, dear knows,” said Mrs. 
Turner, who could not conceal her pride in her 
bright young daughter. 

u I can remember old Rain-in-the-face,” said 
Mr. Turner. “ He must have been nearly a 
hundred, but he was as straight as an arrow, and 
his teeth were as white and sound as yours, Mr. 
York. He was proud as Lucifer and would n't 
have anything to do with pale-faces.” 

“ Then there was old Molly Mooney, who 
used to go from house to house and eat a dinner 
at each place,” said John. “ I remember mother's 
telling about her. She used to wear the Indian 
blanket.” 

“ She was as old as Rain-in-the-face,” said 
Mr. Turner, “ but the women were vastly inferior 
to the men. They were looked down upon and 
made to do all the hard work, so they had n't the 
self-respect.” 

“ I 'm sure it is very interesting to camp in 
such a romantic spot,” said Mrs. Nelson, looking 
round on the forest-guarded clearing. 

Nature in its great solitude was felt. The 
forest was flushed a deep red by the reflection of 
158 


A NOCTURNE 


the glowing sky, and the water was turned into 
crimson. York and Mr. Turner, lighting cigar 
and pipe, strolled down to the shore, leaving John 
the privilege of helping Peggy clear away the 
supper. The two men, sitting on the rocks 
watching the silent splendor all around them, 
made no comment on the scenery. They talked 
of the political outlook, the affairs in the busi- 
ness world, and discussed the character of this and 
that public man ; but though the only comment 
made on the sunset was that the angry red light 
in the sky was caused by distant forest fires, they 
were not unmindful of the strange and wonderful 
beauty all around them. The crimson light slowly 
faded, changing to violet and amethyst. The day- 
light turned to twilight, then sank gently and 
softly into pale bewitching moonlight. The orb 
of night, a beautiful crescent, low down in the 
soft southern sky, was an angry red, as the sun 
had been. Seen through the smoke which was 
filling the air with a dreamy haze, beautiful yet 
terrible, it spoke of burning forests and living 
things caught in its relentless embrace. 

Footsteps coming down over the bank told of 
the approach of some one, and soon Peggy ap- 
peared, followed by the ever-attendant John. 

“ See here,” said the farmer, looking around at 
U9 


SWEET PEGGY 


the young man, c< what were you telling me this 
morning, John, about fire being in Number 18 
Township ? ” 

Throwing the end of his cigar into the water, 
York sprang to his feet and stepped to the young 
girl’s side. 

cc Come, Peggy,” said he, “ let us see the 
Pocamoonshine by moonlight. We will steal off, 
while your father has John solid and fast.” 

Nothing loath, Peggy followed him to where 
the “ Water-Witch ” was moored, and taking her 
place in the stern steered out into the lake. The 
Pocamoonshine lay, a beautiful sheet of water, 
gleaming like silver in the pale moonlight. Not 
a breath stirred, and only the measured dip of the 
oars broke the stillness. Rowing out into the 
lake, York drew in his oars, and let the <c Water- 
Witch ” drift, but so light was the air she hardly 
stirred. All around them lay the dim shore 
stretching for miles into the dense forest wilds. 
Above them towered the hills, pile upon pile of 
solid rock heaped up in the grand scale in which 
nature performs her work. 

“ What are you thinking of, Peggy ? ” asked 
York, watching the sweet rapt face of the girl 
before him. 

“ That we are the only human beings in all 

160 


A NOCTURNE 

this great expanse of lake and mountain,’" said 
she, seriously. 

“ Well, we are quite enough,” York returned. 
“ I don’t pvant any more, do you ? I suppose 
John would like to be here, but I can survive 
his absence if you can.” 

Peggy frowned. 

cc Don’t be frivolous,” she commanded. “ I 
think we seem very small indeed when we look 
at the lake and mountains and think how great 
God must be to create such grandeur where an 
eye hardly ever rests upon it. I don’t believe 
man would ever feel his importance if he lived 
alone among the mountains.” 

cc Then he had better not try it,” York returned, 
“for unless man feels that he is of some import- 
ance, he never does anything for the world.” 

“ That is true,” Peggy admitted, “ and that is 
why truly great men are always found in the 
midst of their fellow-beings.” 

York made no reply, but, slowly dipping his 
oars, kept the “Water-Witch” lightly moving 
through the water. 

“ What is the meaning of the name of this 
lake ? ” he asked, breaking the silence. “ Poca- 
moonshine sounds suggestive.” 

“ There is a pretty legend connected with this 
1 6 1 


ii 


SWEET PEGGY 


lake,” said Peggy, leaning back in the stern and 
letting the “ Water-Witch ” go as she would. “ A 
young Indian, son of the great chief, went down 
the Kwapskitchwock in his canoe one day, and 
paddling along the shore of Lake Cathance 
came upon a beautiful maiden.” 

“Ah!” murmured York, “ beautiful maidens 
haunted Cathance even then. Was she singing ? ” 

“You mustn't interrupt,” ordered Peggy, with 
a frown. “ She was a white maiden with beauti- 
ful golden hair, blue eyes, and a brow like snow, 
which caused him to forget the dusky maidens of 
his own race and the Princess Lulalla, who was 
to be his bride. To the lake he went day after 
day, and the more he saw of the white maiden the 
deeper in love he became, until at last he went 
to his father and told him that he could not wed 
the Princess Lulalla because he was in love with 
a snow maiden with eyes the color of the lake 
when the west wind sweeps across it. At first the 
great chief was very angry, and would not listen 
to his son's not marrying the princess, but when 
the young man told him that if he did not give 
his consent and receive the snow maiden he would 
carry her off and join another tribe, the tribe of 
the enemy, the father, because he was very fond 
of the son, gave in, so the young man married 
i6z 


A NOCTURNE 

the snow maiden and brought her to his wig- 
wam. But they were not destined to be happy. 
The squaws hated the Indian’s bride because she 
was so fair and her hair was so long and golden, 
so though she was sweet and good and tried to 
be friends, they only hated her the more ; and one 
night, when the warriors were all away on a great 
hunt, the squaws banded together and made a 
raid on the young bride’s wigwam. They found 
her sleeping, with her long golden hair falling in 
a cloud about her. In spite of her cries and 
entreaties they dragged her out and brought 
her down to the shore of the lake. It was a 
night like this. The crescent moon was wrap- 
ping the lake in a soft pale light. Pushing her 
into the water, they all joined hands and danced 
along the shore, chanting a wild Indian song to 
drown her dying screams. As she sank for the 
last time, they saw a pale spirit-like form with 
floating hair rise out of the water and disappear 
in the forest. They were so frightened they 
rushed back to the Indian Field, but the white 
bride was never seen again, though on nights 
like this, when the moon is five days old, the 
pale spirit rises out of the water and disappears 
in the forest. If you watch that dusky cove 
lying over there in the shadow, you ’ll see the 
163 


SWEET PEGGY 

t 

spirit rise out of the water. There she is now. 
See ? ” 

Looking over his shoulder in the direction 
Peggy pointed, York saw something white gleam 
out of the shadows of the darkening inlet, and a 
piercing cry, long drawn out, and mournful, broke 
the stillness. 

“ Oh, what was that? ” cried Peggy, starting up, 
her face paling in the moonlight. 

“ Nothing but a silver birch and a loon’s cry,” 
said York, reassuringly. “ Did your Indian bogie 
frighten you ? The white bride won’t rise to- 
night, Peggy ; we ’ll keep her away.” 

cc Let us go back to the camp,” said Peggy, 
nervously ; “ it ’s creepy out here. I hate those 
loons.” 

Kindly forbearing to tease, York bent to his 
oars and sent the “ Water- Witch ” so swiftly 
through the water that the reassuring light of the 
camp-fire soon shone out to greet them. 

“ Why, Peggy, your hands are as cold as ice,” 
said York, as he helped her out of the boat. “ You 
are not afraid of meeting any of your old Indian 
friends, are you ? Their spirits don’t hover about 
the place, do they?” and he looked searchingly 
down into her face. 

“ Don’t laugh,” she pleaded. “ I know it is 
164 


A NOCTURNE 


foolish, but that old loon gave me a turn. You 
see it is ‘ poky-moonshine ’ out there. Let us go 
up where the folks are.” 

York said no more, but kept quietly at her side 
until they came within the ruddy circle made by 
the glowing camp-fire. 


p 


Chapter XIII 
A GYPSY RONDO 


1§e3^ 




sags 





F OLLOWING the moonlit nights, which 
seemed to wrap the forests in solemn still- 
ness, came the dewy mornings as sweet 
and beautiful as though each new day came to 
earth fresh from the hand of its Maker. The 
camp in the Indian Field was early astir, for the 
noons were hot and breathless, and berry-picking 
was easier in the cool of the day. The bushes 
were not gleaned so thoroughly as usual. York 
and Peggy were not expected to pick berries. 
John, watching them with black looks, did not 
know why the singing fellow should not take as 
much interest in the berries as the rest of them. 
The blueberries meant a great deal to John : he 
1 66 


A GYPSY RONDO 


had come as he did every year to gather his crop 
to sell to the canning factory, and could not leave 
his rake to moon off at Peggy's side or lie round 
on the ground smoking. 

York did not take into consideration the im- 
portance of the blueberries. He could idle with- 
out an object, and after the novelty of raking off 
the round purple berries into the bag fastened 
onto the coarse wooden teeth wore off, he entirely 
forgot their commercial value. He had brought 
his camera with him. When the mood seized 
him he worked industriously at taking and devel- 
oping pictures, and had become very proficient in 
the art. John hated that camera, for no matter 
what it focussed, the camp, the “ Water-Witch,” 
the lake, or the forest, Peggy was always in the fore- 
ground, — Peggy looking so charming at the blue- 
berry rake ; Peggy proudly holding up the spoils 
of her hook and line ; Peggy rowing the “ Water- 
Witch ” or cooking some concoction over the camp- 
fire, her youth, grace, and beauty always showing 
to the best advantage. The only consolation 
John could find was placing himself as near the 
girl of his heart as possible when a group picture 
was to be taken. If her picture were to be the 
property of the singing fellow to an unlimited 
extent, he would be there too to show his claim. 

167 


SWEET PEGGY 


Not only did York not propose to confine 
himself to the blueberry-picking, but he was con- 
tinually coaxing the others away and demoralizing 
the industry. One warm morning he lured them 
all away from the rake on the pretence that it was 
their duty to climb High-Head and locate the 
forest fires which were making the air hazy with 
smoke. They might be nearer than they thought, 
and their own camp be in danger. The farmer 
laughed at that idea, yet was tempted to take the 
climb, for though he came to the Indian Field 
every year, he had not stood upon High-Head 
since he was a boy. 

“ You need n't try and coax me,” said Mrs. 
Turner, shaking her head. <c I 'm too fat; I 'd 
never reach the top.” 

“ It is just the exercise you need,” York de- 
clared. “ If you climbed a mountain every day, 
you would reduce your flesh.” 

“ I used to climb them when I was a girl,” 
she returned. “ I suppose you think I never 
was as slim as Peggy, but you just ask father.” 

“ That she was,” declared the farmer, “ and 
the prettiest girl round the lake. Peggy is the 
image of her.” 

“ That is a great compliment,” said Peggy, 
gayly. “ But if I 'm like what mother was, I 'll 
1 68 


A GYPSY RONDO 


probably be like what mother is, so I must climb 
mountains while I may. Come on ; let us 
start.” 

They set forth, leaving Mrs. Turner comfort- 
ably installed at the door of the tent. Peggy led 
the way with John at her side, for he was deter- 
mined that the singing fellow should not have 
the privilege of helping Peggy up over the steep 
ledges and through the thick underbrush, but un- 
fortunately Peggy did not require any assistance. 
In her short skirt and thick shoes she could climb 
as easily as a boy, and having climbed High-Head 
nearly every year of her life knew how to take 
advantage of all the easy places. York, dropping 
behind, offered his assistance to Mrs. Nelson, 
who really needed a helping hand up over the 
ledges, while the farmer, stopping once in a while 
to wipe his heated brow, brought up the rear, 
puffing and blowing like a porpoise. 

“ I am very sorry your daughter could n’t 
come with us,” said York to his companion. “ I 
think she would have enjoyed it very much.” 

“ Yes,” said the lady, with an odd little smile, 
“ I often wish that Charlotte were here. I wish 
I could have persuaded her to come.” 

.York had been informed by Peggy that the 
singer could not camp out. It would injure her 
169 


SWEET PEGGY 


voice to sleep on boughs, live in a tent, and eat 
in the open air, at which York arched his eye- 
brows and looked quizzical, but was obliged to 
accept Peggy’s explanation for the lady’s absence, 
as he got no other. 

The summit of High-Head was a bald gray 
ledge which several years before had been swept 
by forest fires, so that now the view was unob- 
structed. It was a hard, steep scramble to reach 
the top, but when York helped Mrs. Nelson 
over the last ledge Peggy and John were already 
there, the girl, bareheaded, perched on a loose 
fragment of rock, gazing out with wide-open, 
admiring eyes over the vast extent of country 
lying under the blue haze of smoke. 

<c Is n’t it grand ? ” she exclaimed as the others 
appeared over the last ledge. 

“ Don’t expect me to admire it until I get my 
breath,” said Mrs. Nelson, sinking down on the 
warm, moss-covered ledge. 

“ Want some help, sir?” asked York, as the 
farmer’s straw hat appeared over the edge of the 
cliff. “ Give me your hand.” 

Accepting the proffered aid, the farmer pulled 
himself up over the ledge, and stood mopping his 
red face and fanning himself with his straw hat 
while he endeavored to recover his breath. 

170 


A GYPSY RONDO 


<c Jer-u-sa-lem ! ” he ejaculated at length, “ but 
this is a tuckerer when you reach my size and age.” 

“ But the view is well worth the trouble,” de- 
clared York. “ What a wilderness ! ” 

Mountain peak after mountain peak and pile 
upon pile of solid ledge rose one on another with 
great stretches of limitless forest between dotted 
here and there with lakes. East, west, north, 
and south the hills stretched away until they 
melted into blue cloud-like masses against the 
sky. Here and there little clearings appeared in 
the forest, and farmhouses, like mere specks, 
could be seen against the rugged sides of the 
mountains. Over all hung the beautiful blue 
haze, while away to the north great columns of 
black, angry smoke rolled up out of the forest. 

<c The fire is in Township 1 8,” said John, “ and 
nearer than we thought.” 

“ But Narraguagus Lake is between it and 
us,” said Peggy. “ See, Mrs. Nelson, that 
thread of light green through the forest is the 
course of the Musquash Stream which connects 
the Pocamoonshine with the Narraguagus.” 

“ You can’t see the whole chain of lakes from 
here,” said John; “that you have to climb 
Hoary-Head for. That is the highest land any- 
where around here.” 

1 71 


SWEET PEGGY 


“ We must take that climb some day, Peggy,” 
said York, getting ready his ever-present camera. 

John regarded him with a frown. What right 
had he to claim Peggy as though the girl belonged 
to him ? 

“ How many lakes are there in this chain ? ” 
Mrs. Nelson asked. 

“ Let me see,” said Peggy, counting on her 
fingers. “ I used to know them all by heart. 
Wabasses, Chiputneticook, — that is the largest of 
all, — Baskahegan, Whittequerguagum, Narragua- 
gus, Pocamoonshine, and Cathance.” 

“ Now give us the translation,” commanded 
York. “ What do those jaw-crackers mean ? ” 

“ Wabasses is c north ; * that is on the boundary 
of the county,” Peggy replied. cc Chiputneti- 
cook is c grand/ Baskahegan means c Lake-in-the- 
forest * — is n’t that pretty ? Whittequerguagum 
means c Big- water ; ’ Narraguagus is ‘Narrow- 
pond,’ Pocamoonshine you know the meaning 
of, and Cathance is c South-lake.’ ” 

“ That is very pretty ; thank you, Peggy,” 
said Mrs. Nelson. <c How many of them can we 
see from here ? ” 

“ Only three,” Peggy replied, — <c Narraguagus, 
Pocamoonshine, and Cathance. The northern 
ones are hidden by the mountains, but from 
172 


A GYPSY RONDO 


Hoary-Head you can see them all, although you 
have to exercise considerable imagination in regard 
to Wabasses: it looks like a silver mist. There 
is Hoary-Head over there. See how it towers 
above all the others. It always reminds me of 
a giant ; it looks so grand and gloomy.” 

“ It is magnificent ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Nelson. 
cc The smoke makes it all the more beautiful.” 

<c I don’t like the looks of that smoke,” said 
the farmer, shaking his head. “ It is destroying 
/the woods.” 

cc Do forest fires ever attack farms and vil- 
lages ? ” Mrs. Nelson asked. 

<c Guess you ’d thought so if you had been here 
when this mountain burned,” replied the farmer. 
“ We were out fighting fire for a fortnight; men 
and women both had to turn to.” 

<c Nothing but High-Head seems to have 
burned,” said the lady. cc This ledge is all that 
shows marks of the fire.” 

“ Swept the whole country,” the farmer replied. 
<c This is all young growth ; is n’t a tree round 
Indian Field thirty years old. This mountain 
was cleaned off bare as your hand.” 

“ That is where the blueberries came from,” 
said John. “ They always spring up in burnt 
land.” 


173 


SWEET PEGGY 


“ It does n’t seem possible,” said York, gazing 
down on the sea of green below him. 

“ What appeals to you most in this scene ? ” 
asked Mrs. Nelson, watching the young man, 
who stood at her side, an unusually thoughtful 
expression on his face. 

cc Those lonely farmhouses,” he replied. “ It 
seems so pitiful to think of the people who wear 
out an existence in these wilds.” 

“ Perhaps they are not so much to be pitied 
as you think,” replied the lady. “ They have 
learned the secret of contentment and are much 
more satisfied with their lot than we restless city- 
bred people are. Cathance has taught me a great 
many lessons.” 

“ But think of the bright young lives that are 
wasted,” he replied. “ There is one ; ” and he 
nodded toward Peggy, who, assisted by John, was 
rolling stones down over the cliff. “ She de- 
serves a better fate.” 

“You need not worry about Peggy,” said the 
l^dy, promptly. “John Thompson and Cathance 
will not be her fate. I often wonder if in the 
future she will be as happy and contented as are 
her father and mother.” 

York looked down upon the lady in surprise. 
What did she mean ? Was she going to insti- 
*74 


A GYPSY RONDO 


tute herself the guardian of Peggy’s fate ? Be- 
fore he could speak the girl herself drew near. 

“ What are you two talking about ? ” she 
demanded. “You look as solemn as owls.” 

“We were discussing the question of fates,” 
said York, gravely. 

“Were you?” said she, gayly. “Well, you 
look wise enough to be oracles on the subject. 
Can you read mine ? ” 

“Give me your hand,” commanded York, 
“ and let me try.” 

Peggy extended her slim brown hand, and 
taking it palm upward in his, York surveyed it 
closely with great gravity. 

“Well,” said the girl, impatiently, “what do 
you see ? ” 

“ Your fate is written in your face,” said he. 
“ Some day the prince will come, riding his red- 
roan steed, and the sequel will be £ And they mar- 
ried and lived happy ever after.’ ” 

“ That is all you know about it,” pouted 
Peggy, pulling away her hand. “ A prince and 
a red-roan steed indeed ! As though they were 
all a girl wanted ! ” 

“ Indeed, Miss Peggy,” retorted York, “ princes 
on red-roan steeds should not be so scornfully 
treated by young maidens.” 

*75 


SWEET PEGGY 


“You are a fraud,” declared Peggy, “and 
have n’t the least idea what fate has in store for 
me. I ’ll try Mrs. Nelson and see if she has any 
more insight into the future.” 

“ The line of life is long, Peggy,” said the 
lady, examining the rosy palm, “ and it is crossed 
by the line of success.” 

“ There ! she knows something,” said Peggy, 
nodding her head toward York. 

“That is what young ladies want nowadays, 
is it ? ” he replied. “ I am living in a new cen- 
tury, in which lovers have gone out of fashion. 
No princes for the new woman ! ” 

“ I see a journey for you, Peggy, across the 
sea,” Mrs. Nelson continued. 

“A trip to the pyramids,” jeered York. “ I 
see the Peggy of the future with eye-glasses and 
guidebook doing Europe. Well, I ’ll know what 
fate to call up for the next young woman who 
consults me.” 

“Now I’ll read my own fate,” said Peggy, 
gravely inspecting her hand. “ I see hard work, 
discouragement, and struggle, but the hope of 
success ever beckoning me on.” 

“ What efforts will this success crown ? ” asked 
York, curiously. 

“ That you ’ll have to find out,” said Peggy, 
gayly. 176 


A GYPSY RONDO 


“ Mrs. Nelson,” said York, in a stage whisper, 
<c is Peggy writing a book ? ” 

The lady looked smilingly across at the girl, 
saying, “ Shall we tell him, Peggy ? ” but before 
the latter could reply Mr. Turner drew near. 
With John’s aid he had been trying to locate the 
fire. 

“ Well,” remarked the farmer, “ I don’t see as 
we know much more about what’s going to be- 
come of the woods, if it does n’t rain, than we did 
before we came up here, and I suppose mother 
will have dinner ready by the time we get back.” 

cc Are you rested, Mrs. Nelson ? ” asked 

Peggy- 

“ Oh, yes,” said the lady, rising, <c and the 
mention of dinner reminds me that I am hungry.” 

One by one they began the steep descent, the 
farmer pausing to take a last look at the thick 
columns of smoke rolling up into the air, and 
then, with a sigh, plunging down over the cliff 
whither the rest of the party had disappeared. 


77 


Chapter XIV 
IN THE MINOR KEY 



r — r- , r^—j _.-r-i 

tJ 

=j* ^ 



— t— i 

U 






G race Bradford had finished the 

night’s milking, tied up the cows, fast- 
ened the barn door, and started for the 
house. Pausing by the well curb with its old- 
fashioned sweep, she set down her heavy pail and 
stopped to rest. She was so tired, so strangely 
tired, everything had been a burden to her all 
summer, and she was glad that the hay was in ; 
perhaps now she would have a chance to rest. 
The days were beginning to shorten ; already the 
valley was filled with red sunset light. She looked 
with awe up into the sky, for it was all aflame from 
north to south, while over Storm King rose great 
columns of black smoke. Storm King was on 
fire; when darkness fell, she would see the red- 
! 7 8 


IN THE MINOR KEY 

black flame which always reminded her of the pillar 
of cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night. 
The mountain burned all through the hot days 
and nights, yet every morning she saw it emerge 
from the smoke and flame as invincible as ever. 
What was it teaching her, she wondered, as she 
sat with her marred face turned toward the crim- 
son light? How many lessons did life have for 
her to learn ? 

“ Grace ! ” called her mother from the side 
door. 

She must not sit there dreaming any longer, 
for the milk must be strained, the pans washed, 
and things be made ready for the night. She 
must not let her mother know how heavy the 
milk pail was, or she would insist upon carrying 
it herself. 

As Grace passed slowly up to the side door, 
still watching the sunset-flooded valley, she saw 
a man coming slowly up the hill, his black figure 
strongly silhouetted against the red light. Every 
passer-by was of interest in that lonely place, and 
Grace paused at the side door to watch him. He 
was evidently a stranger, for he walked slowly, 
and kept looking about as though uncertain of 
the way. Grace still lingered, in order to direct 
him should he make any inquiries in regard to his 
179 


SWEET PEGGY 


course ; but when he reached the top of the hill 
he quickened his steps and soon passed out of 
sight. 

u What a while you have been, daughter ! ” said 
Mrs. Bradford. “ Was old Brindle troublesome 
again r 

“ No, mother; I stopped to watch the sunset.” 

£C Is n't it a sight ? ” and Mrs. Bradford paused 
to look out of the window. cc I declare it does 
look wicked. They say such unearthly red sky 
always brings disaster.” 

“ The fires will bring disasters if it does n't rain 
soon,” Grace replied. “ The smoke grows denser 
each day.” 

“ Dear me ! how short the days have grown ! ” 
said Mrs. Bradford, returning to her tasks. 
“We'll soon have to have a light to do up the 
nigh? work. How I hate the time, when one 
has to go round with a lamp in one’s hand ! ” 

Grace shuddered mentally. The short, fervid 
summer would soon be over, with its dead leaves 
heaped upon her buried hopes, and no one knew 
how she dreaded the winter. 

“How long, O Lord, how long?” her soul 
cried in speechless agony, as she went quietly 
about her nightly duties, putting away the milk, 
scalding the pans, bringing in the kindlings. 

180 


IN THE MINOR KEY 


How many times had she gone through with that 
same routine ? How many times had she hung 
her apron up on the nail behind the door, drop- 
ping the bolt into the hasp and making all secure 
for the night ? How many more times would she 
have to do it ? When she was an old, old woman 
would she be hanging her apron upon that same 
nail and seeing that the doors were all fastened ? 

The days were growing short. Mrs. Bradford 
lit the lamp when they went into the sitting-room, 
and Grace had to press her hands to the sides of 
her face when she looked out at Storm King. 
How grand and awful the burning mountain 
looked against the darkening sky ! Taking up 
her knitting, Mrs. Bradford seated herself in her 
favorite chair beside the small table drawn out 
into the middle of the room with the light upon 
it. And this was what it would be through the 
dreary months of fall and winter until spring 
came again to lure them with its opening buds to 
false hopes. Just the two lonely women alone in 
the heart of the mountains ! Grace pressed her 
face against the cool window-pane. God forgive 
her for the rebellious thoughts which would rise ! 
She had been sorely chastened and yet had not 
learned submission. 

“We ’ll have to begin to think about pickling 
1 8 1 


SWEET PEGGY 


pretty soon,” remarked Mrs. Bradford. “ It is 
so dry, things will ripen early. You was going to 
send down for Mrs. Turner’s recipe for tomato 
chow-chow.” 

“ Yes, mother ; I’ll see about it to-morrow.” 

With a great patience Grace left the window 
and burning Storm King, and came round to her 
place — the rocker on the other side of the table — 
and took up her work. She was doing some fine 
hemstitching, but to-night her needle felt strangely 
heavy and something cast a blur before her eyes, 
so that it was with difficulty that she took the 
delicate stitches. Then it seemed such a mockery 
to be doing such fine work for herself. What 
need for her to hemstitch her clothes or make any- 
thing pretty to wear up there alone in the moun- 
tains ? She would give the dainty ruffling to 
Peggy Turner as a farewell gift when the girl 
went away. 

She found it difficult to keep up her part in 
the conversation. She could not feel the proper 
amount of concern that the currants were drying 
up for want of rain, and the cows failing in their 
usual supply of milk on account of the dryness 
of the pasture. Her thoughts would wander, and 
it was with difficulty that she brought them back 
to the affairs of their daily life. 

182 


IN THE MINOR KEY 


The tall, old-fashioned clock in the corner had 
just tolled eight. How long the evenings were 
already ! What would they be when the snow 
filled the valley and lay piled in drifts about the 
house ? Suddenly the silence was broken by a 
knock at the outside door, — a low, uncertain 
knock, as though the new-comer was either in 
doubt or uncertain of a welcome. 

“ Who can it be at this time in the evening ? ” 
exclaimed Mrs. Bradford. “ It is after eight 
o’clock.” 

Grace said nothing, but laying down her work 
went to the door. The man standing on the 
steps seemed to shrink back into the shadow as 
Grace appeared. 

“ Who is it ? ” she asked, as the light on the 
table behind her shone out on the darkness. 

“ Grace, don’t you know me ? ” 

“ Charles ! ” 

The piercing cry brought Mrs. Bradford out 
into the little entry just in time to catch her 
daughter as she was sinking to the floor as if 
struck by a mortal blow. 

“ Grace ! Grace ! What is it ? ” she cried, 
frightened by the sight of her daughter’s white 
face. 

The stranger stepped into the entry. He was 

183 


SWEET PEGGY 


a short, squarely built man with a plain, honest 
face. A beard covered the lower part of it, and 
his hair, when he removed his hat, fell low over 
his forehead. Mrs. Bradford, intent upon her 
daughter, hardly noticed him. Grace soon recov- 
ered herself. 

“ It was nothing. The surprise, or something, 
seemed to take away my breath here;” and she 
laid her hand upon her throbbing heart. cc It 
was so sudden.” 

“ It was my fault, Mrs. Bradford,” said the 
stranger. “ I ought not to have announced my- 
self so suddenly.” 

Mrs. Bradford, looking at him for the first 
time, was almost as overcome as her daughter. 

“ You ! here ! ” she exclaimed in surprise. 

Grace, calm now and the most self-possessed 
of the three, led the way into the sitting-room. 
Feeling very weak and shaky, she was glad to sit 
down, but that was only the effect of the shock 
she had received. She wondered at herself for 
her indifference to the fact that her old lover was 
before her, seated in the chair he had so often 
occupied and looking at her furtively in some- 
thing of the old way. What had become of the 
feelings she had cherished so long, — her love, 
her pride, her acute sensitiveness ? All had 

184 


IN THE MINOR KEY 


dropped away from her like a garment, and she 
felt strangely like another being ; as though her 
former self were gone, and she had entered upon 
a new womanhood. 

He was far from feeling at his ease. Awkward 
and embarrassed, he answered Mrs. Bradford’s 
questions with an effort and made no attempt to 
break the long pauses that came in the conversa- 
tion. Grace left her mother to do the talking 
and sat with her hands folded in her lap, a far- 
away look in her eyes, as though hardly conscious 
of the object on which they rested. It was a 
dream. She would wake by and by, and life 
would be very different. Suddenly she became 
aware that her mother had slipped out of the 
room, and her old lover was looking at her as 
though she were some one far removed whom 
he hardly dare address. 

“ I don’t know as I ought to have come, 
Grace,” he faltered ; “ but I — I was desperate, 
and thought perhaps you ’d forget the past and 
help me out.” 

cc I am very glad to see you,” said Grace, rous- 
ing herself and speaking cheerfully, cordially, as 
she would to one of the neighbors who had 
dropped in to call on her. “ What can I do 
for you ? ” 


85 


SWEET PEGGY 


“ My wife died last November/’ he went on, 
his eyes shifting away from hers. “ Perhaps you 
heard ? ” 

“ No, I have n’t heard anything,” she replied. 
“ I ’m very sorry for you.” 

“ Things have been at sixes and sevens ever 
since,” he made answer, his eyes resting on the 
picture over the chimney-piece, of the first prayer 
in Congress. “ There are four children ; the 
oldest is only ten, and they need a woman to 
look after them.” 

“Indeed they do,” said Grace, sympathetically. 
“ It is very hard that your wife had to be 
taken. Children do so need their mother.” 

“ I don’t see how I can get along alone any 
longer,” he went on, his eyes shifting to the old 
clock in the corner which was getting ready to 
strike the hour, “ and I thought before winter set 
in I ’d have to make some new arrangement. I 
could n’t help thinking of you. I know I ought 
not to have left you.” 

He blurted out the words and then stopped, 
turning a deep red. He could not say more, for 
somehow it seemed like disloyalty to his dead 
wife. 

“ I forgave you long ago,” said Grace, gently. 
“It is better as it is. You did right.” 

1 86 


IN THE MINOR KEY 


Grace spoke slowly and distinctly. Things 
had grown very clear to her within the last hour, 
but her words did not put the man any more at 
his ease. His eyes wandered all around the room, 
resting upon everything but the marred face of 
the woman on the other side of the little table. 

“ It is hard to understand at first,” Grace went 
on, breaking the awkward pause ; “ but everything 
comes out right in the end, and after a while we 
see the reason why things happen.” 

“ If you could come and help me, Grace,” the 
man replied, speaking hurriedly to prevent 
another terrible pause. “ I know I ought to be 
ashamed to ask you to marry me now, but if you 
can forget, we might go back and begin again.” 

“ Did you come here to ask me to marry you ? ” 
Her voice was low but very clear, and she looked 
directly at the man on the other side of the table. 

“ Yes,” he replied, without meeting her eyes, 
“ we are older now, and things are different. We 
could get along, and there 's no other woman I 
would want to marry.” 

Oh the irony of fate ! This was the man whom 
Grace thought had broken her heart : this com- 
mon man with rough hands and hair falling down 
over a low forehead, who could not look her in 
the face. A sad little smile curved Grace's lips 
187 


SWEET PEGGY 

as she thought of the ideal she had cherished all 
these years. 

“Em sorry,” said she, steadily, “sorry you 
came ; I am sorry you thought of me, for I can- 
not marry you ; it is impossible.” 

“ If it is your mother she need n't stand in the 
way,” he replied. “ She can go to Lizzie's ; she 
was going there before.” 

“ It is not mother,” said Grace, quietly. 

“ I suppose you can’t forgive me for leaving 
you before,” said he, in a hurt tone, looking at 
her for one brief instant. 

“No, I forgive you freely,” Grace replied; 
“ but though I am very sorry for you, I cannot 
be your wife.” 

A long pause followed, then the man with a 
sigh got slowly on his feet. Grace rose also, 
and for a moment they stood facing each other. 
Then it was that the man became dimly conscious 
of the inward beauty which made the marred face 
of the woman he had deserted, lovely, and see- 
ing for the first time the impossibility of the 
proposal he had come to make, with a brief good- 
by he pulled his cap down over his face and left 
the house. 

Very slowly Grace climbed the stairs, and en- 
tering her own room crossed over to the window 

1 88 


IN THE MINOR KEY 


and looked out toward Storm King. The red 
moon, shining through clouds of smoke, cast a 
lurid light over its bald summit. The fire, par- 
tially quenched by the night dews, crouched low 
in the forest like a monster ready to spring upon 
its prey. Grand and terrible was the scene, yet 
how beautiful ! Grace smiled as she looked out 
toward her old friend. 

“ You helped me bear it,” she murmured, “ and 
I love you for it. Perhaps if I had n’t lived in 
this lonely place, I should have awakened sooner. 
Had I gone out into the world, I should have 
discovered it before. I have been very foolish, 
and have wasted my whole life mourning over a 
lost ideal, but God is very good. He will forgive 
me because He understands, and now I will begin 
to live.” 

How different everything seemed ! She smiled 
as she thought of the pleasant things she would 
do on the morrow, and the dread of the long 
winter was entirely gone. When Peggy Turner 
went away she would get her to send her some 
new books, and after she and her mother had 
read them, she would send them round among 
the neighbors. She went about her preparations 
for the night humming a little song,- — one the 
stranger had sung the day he and Peggy had 
189 


SWEET PEGGY 


spent with them. She would send for them to 
come again. Her mother had enjoyed their visit 
so much. Oh, she was going to be very happy 
now, she thought, as she laid her head upon her 
pillow. 


190 


Chapter XV 
A REQUIEM 


Rp? ;• 











“ AKES alive ! I never was so taken aback 
in my life. I declare ! I ’m all of a trem- 
ble, and have been ever sence Phoebe told 
me. What do you suppose has happened, Mr. 
York ? ” 

York, seated at his desk between the two front 
windows, laid down his pen and turned toward 
his agitated housekeeper, who had just burst into 
the room. 

c< My dear Phillis,” said he, “ you do look 
agitated. Your hair has not turned gray at the 
shock, but it has gone a little awry, and is slipping 
toward one ear.” 

cc If you had any sense or feelin’ you would n’t 
stop to make foolish speeches when such awful 
things are happenin’,” retorted Mercy, readjust- 
ing her morning front of dark brown. “We 
never know when we lay down in our beds what 
19 1 


SWEET PEGGY 


will happen before we get out of ’em. Such 
providences ought to make us reflect, but I don’t 
suppose anything would sober some people ; ” and 
she cast a reproachful look at her companion. 

c< What has happened ? Don’t keep me in 
such cruel suspense, Phillis,” urged York. c< Has 
Eben Doolittle eloped with Pauline Lowell ? 
He has n’t shown up this morning, and I have 
long suspected him of having designs on those 
two thousand dollars.” 

“ The idea ! ” exclaimed Mercy, bridling. She 
considered Eben her especial property, as York 
very well knew. u Eben ’s got too much sense 
to take up with Pauliny Lowell and her ail- 
ments. Money ’s no object with him.” 

“ Of course not,” York assented, “ with real 
worth ever present to lure him with green apple- 
pies and raspberry tarts. Some women need no 
paltry thousands to make them attractive in the 
eyes of our unworthy sex.” 

“ You can say that,” said Mercy, tossing her 
head, “ but I know better. There ’s one of the 
best women ever lived gone, and how did your 
sex use her ? ” 

“ Who is gone ? ” demanded York. 

“ Grace Bradford was found dead in her bed 
this morning.” 

192 


A REQUIEM 


“ What ! ” York was serious enough now. 

“ Yes,” Mercy went on ; “she did n’t get up 
as usual, and when her mother went to see what 
the matter was, she found her dead, layin’ just 
as natural with a smile on her face as though she 
was dreamin’.” 

“ What a shock ! ” exclaimed York, springing 
to his feet and walking over to the window. 

“ The doctor said it was heart disease,” Mercy 
continued. “ She ’s had it ever sence she was 
burned, he says, but she did n’t know it.” 

“ She must have had some shock or excitement, 
then, to have taken her off so suddenly,” said 
York, more moved than he cared to show by his 
housekeeper’s news. 

“ That ’s just what she did have,” declared 
Mercy. “ Her old beau come back last night: 
walked in on ’em without a bit of warnin’. 
Phoebe said Grace jest dropped then, she was so 
overcome. His wife ’s dead, and probably they 
made it up, and that’s why she looked so 
happy.” 

“ Hum,” said York, slowly, as he stood with 
his hands in his pockets looking out toward 
Suncook enveloped in a cloud of smoke. “ I 
wonder if Peggy knows ? ” said he, suddenly, more 
to himself than to Mercy. 

T 3 i93 


SWEET PEGGY 


“ If she don’t she ’s the only one all round the 
lake,” said that individual, sarcastically. 

Mercy was right ; the news of Grace Bradford’s 
sudden death had spread, like the forest fire, all 
around the shore of Cathance, and the people 
mourned as one family for the one who had been 
so suddenly snatched from them. Grace Brad- 
ford, with her marred face and sad story, had 
been greatly beloved ; and the day of her funeral 
the road leading to the little house among the 
mountains was obscured by the great clouds of 
yellow dust which rose from the constant pro- 
cession of wagons passing over it. Every family 
around the lake was represented. Women left 
their housework to take care of itself ; and men, 
in the midst of harvest as they were, left every- 
thing, and, donning their best clothes, harnessed 
up to take their families to the funeral. 

York carried Mercy in the light fancy wagon 
which was the admiration of Cathance. It was a 
hot, dry day, and the smoke seemed thicker than 
ever. Mercy wore a thick brown veil tied down 
over her head to protect her bonnet from the 
dust, which, together with her best black alpaca 
dress, caused York to wonder that she did not 
suffocate from the heat. He was unusually silent 
going up the mountain, for Grace Bradford’s 
194 


A REQUIEM 


death had made a great impression upon him. 
The loneliness and sadness of her life in the 
mountains, the pathos of her story, gave a sacred- 
ness to her memory which was felt even by him, 
the thoughtless, careless, summer sojourner who 
had merely touched her in passing. 

Owing to Mercy's delay in starting, York's 
horse was almost the last one to be fastened 
to the low white fence ; as the little house was 
full to overflowing, York made no attempt to 
follow Mercy inside, but joined the group of men 
gathered under the window and standing in quiet 
reverence with uncovered heads while the last sad 
rites were paid to their friend and neighbor. The 
minister always improved the opportunity of a 
funeral to preach to the people ; and as this 
death was sudden, and the one taken noble in 
spirit and much beloved, he made much of the 
occasion. 

York made no attempt to follow the discourse, 
but stood gazing down the sunlit valley and 
watching giant Storm King enveloped in clouds 
of smoke. When the last “ Amen ” was said, the 
men and boys started to leave their places before 
the “ mourners" should “ come out," but a low 
chord struck on the organ near the window ar- 
rested them. A voice, sweet and tender, trembling 
*95 


SWEET PEGGY 


slightly at first, but gaining power and confidence 
as it went on, began to sing. 

“ One sweetly solemn thought 
Comes to me o’er and o’er ; 

I am nearer home to-day 
Than I ’ve ever been before. 

“ Nearer my Father’s house. 

Where the many mansions be. 

Nearer the great white throne. 

Nearer the crystal sea. 

“ Nearer the bounds of life, 

Where we lay our burdens down ; 

Nearer leaving the cross. 

Nearer gaining the crown. 

“ But lying darkly between. 

Winding adown through the night. 

Is the silent, unknown stream 
That leads at last to the light. 

t( Father, be near when my feet 
Are slipping o’er the brink. 

For it may be I am nearer home. 

Nearer now than I think.” 

As the last note died away, sinking softly into 
silence, a reverent hush rested upon everything. 
The men stood with bowed, uncovered heads, 
and even nature was silent, for not a leaf rustled 

196 


A REQUIEM 


nor a bird twittered. The stillness was broken 
by the pastor’s voice in solemn benediction : 

“ Now may grace, mercy, and peace be and abide 
with you all, amen.” 

York lingered outside until the last sad rites 
were paid, then, as the procession wound over the 
hill to the little burial-ground, he went to get his 
horse. He was just unfastening the halter when 
Farmer Turner came up to him. 

“ Mercy is going to stay and help my wife clear 
up the house and make it look a bit more home- 
like,” said he. “ I ’ll fetch her home in my wagon 
if you ’ll take Peggy in her place.” 

“ I ’ll be more than delighted,” said York, 
promptly; “and Miss Nelson? I shall have 
room for her too.” 

“ She ’s going to wait ; she ’s helping my wife 
now,” the farmer replied. “ But there ’s nothing 
more Peggy can do. She ’s been here all day fix- 
ing flowers and things. Mis’ Nelson herself pro- 
posed that you take her home and let Mercy stay 
behind.” 

York assented ; and when the girl herself came 
out at the side door, he helped her silently into his 
wagon and drove off down the hill. Peggy looked 
very different from the every-day Peggy in the 
pink shirt waist and short skirt. She was all in 
197 


SWEET PEGGY 


white, with no color about her except a bunch of 
sweet-peas in her belt. The roguish dimples 
were hidden, and the brown eyes looked very 
sweet and serious. York looked at her out of 
the corner of his eye. He wanted to talk, but 
respecting her feelings he kept silent until they 
were some distance on their way down the moun- 
tain, then, unable to keep still any longer, he said 
meekly, — 

“What are you thinking of, Peggy? I’m 
almost afraid to speak, for you look as far away as 
that little pink cloud hovering over Hoary-Head. 
Do you know that I am here ? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” said she, looking up at him with 
a smile, “ it is very kind of you to take me 
home.” 

“Very kind indeed,” repeated York. “ I think 
I should have an especial reward of merit. Of 
course I would prefer Mercy. Mercy has attrac- 
tions of which no other woman can boast, and was 
especially entrancing this afternoon with her head 
tied up in that brown veil.” 

“You know that I don’t allow you to make 
fun of my friends,” admonished Peggy. 

“No; we’ll change the subject,” said York, 
meekly. “Tell me of what you were thinking 
with that far-away look on your face which made 
198 


A REQUIEM 


me feel like an intruder on sacred ground when 
I spoke to you.” 

“ I was thinking of Grace,” said Peggy, 
simply. 

“ What about Grace now ? ” he asked. 

“ I was thinking how happy she must be,” 
said Peggy, her eyes growing dreamy as she looked 
away toward the purple hills. <c Grace was so 
near to heaven that she will find her place there 
all ready for her, and she must be just breathing 
happiness now.” 

“Hum,” said York, slowly, “heaven never 
seems very real nor tangible to me. It is very 
indefinite, don’t you think ? ” 

“ Not when we live as near to it as Grace did,” 
said Peggy, seriously. “ She was on the border- 
land, but we are so far away.” 

“ Thank you for saying c we,’ Peggy,” said 
York. “ I thought a while ago you seemed on 
the border-land yourself.” 

“ Oh, no, I ’m not,” said Peggy, sadly shaking 
her head. <c I ’m miles below Grace ; I ’m afraid 
I never can be what she was. You don’t really 
know me, Mr. York.” 

“ On the whole, I ’m glad you are still of the 
earth, earthy,” he declared. “ I ’m afraid you 
would leave me behind if you reached that 

199 


SWEET PEGGY 


mysterious border-land, and I should be sorry 
to lose you.” 

Peggy made no reply, for she was still too much 
under the influence of the events of the last two 
days to retort with her usual spirit. A little 
silence fell which York was again the first to 
break. 

“ I don’t think I ever heard Miss Nelson sing 
so well as she did to-day,” he remarked. 

Peggy looked up with a pleased face. 

“ I ’m so glad you think so,” said she. “ She 
was afraid that she would not do well, she was 
so frightened. 

“ What was she afraid of? ” asked York, 
bluntly. 

“Well,” said Peggy, slowly, looking straight 
before her between the horse’s ears, “she was 
afraid she would break down. She was very fond 
of Grace, and had sung that hymn for her a great 
many times. It was Grace’s favorite.” 

“Indeed!” said York, in surprise. “How 
many times has she had the pleasure of meeting 
Miss Bradford ? ” 

“ Oh, a great many times,” replied Peggy, 
briefly. 

York carefully removed a fly that had lodged 
on his horse’s neck, and as he leaned over to put 
200 


A REQUIEM 

up the whip, he looked keenly into Peggy’s face. 
But there was no joking with the girl to-day ; 
she was perfectly sober. 

<c I suppose you have taken her up the moun- 
tains a number of times to see your friends/’ 
said he. 

“ Yes,” she replied ; “ she went with me, and 
almost always sang.” 

“ She was able to control her voice to-day in 
spite of her emotions,” said York. fC What else 
was there to frighten her? ” 

<c She is always frightened when she sings,” re- 
turned Peggy, “ and is sure when she begins that 
she is going to fail.” 

“ I don’t see why she should feel that way 
here,” said York. “Who is there among these 
country people to make her nervous ? ” 

“ Well, you principally,” said Peggy, candidly. 
“ I ? ” said York, in surprise. “ The lady 
does me too much honor. I did not know that 
she was aware of my presence.” 

“ She can’t help knowing that you are hanging 
round on the outskirts listening and criticising,” 
retorted Peggy, “ and that makes her nervous.” 

“ She need hardly give herself so much concern 
for a person who never had the pleasure of seeing 
her,” York remarked. 


20 


SWEET PEGGY 


<c She knows all about you, for all that,” Peggy 
declared, “ and is aware how critical you are.” 

“ Indeed,” said York, in surprise; “what she 
knows she must have learned from you.” 

“ Oh, no, she knew all about you before she 
ever came here,” Peggy announced. 

“ This grows more and more interesting,” York 
exclaimed. “ Is it possible that we have met in 
some other stage of existence ? I swear that I 
never to my knowledge ever met a Miss 
Charlotte Nelson. Can you lay your hand on 
your heart, Peggy, and say that that is the name 
of your lady boarder ? ” 

“ Of course it is,” pouted Peggy. <c Does n't 
her own mother call her Charlotte ? ” 

“This is becoming romantic,” declared York. 
“ I did not know I was of so much interest to 
the fair lady who persistently avoids me. What 
have you told her about me, Peggy ? ” 

“ Not much of anything,” said Peggy, with 
great indifference. “We have other things of 
more importance to talk about.” 

“ I suppose so,” said York, with a sigh. “ Of 
course you never give me a thought except when 
I am at your elbow.” 

“ Oh, sometimes you occur to my mind,” said 
Peggy, in a tone which her companion found 
202 


A REQUIEM 

particularly provoking, “ but of course I don’t 
know how much Miss Nelson thinks about 
you.” 

<c Could n’t you tell her how much I admire 
her? ’’hinted York. “Cannot you say that I 
am in love — in love with a voice and a photo- 
graph ? ” 

“ No, you must tell her that yourself,” Peggy 
returned. “ She would not believe me if I told 
her anything so foolish.” 

“ How can I tell her when I never have the 
opportunity of seeing her?” he asked. “You 
do not seem to appreciate the difficulties of the 
situation.” 

“ Let me see,” said Peggy, thoughtfully, “ you 
might convey it in some tender, delicate way. 
Why not sing under her window, — 

“ * I am waiting, only waiting 

Just to tell thee that I love thee.* ” 

“ Did you ever hear me sing that ? ” demanded 
York, looking suspiciously into Peggy’s innocent 
face. 

“ I have heard her humming it,” Peggy replied, 
“ and thought how suggestive it would be for 
your purpose. She gave you a serenade, and if 
you were not a stupid man you would have re- 
turned it long ago.” 


203 


SWEET PEGGY 


“ What should I do without you, Peggy ? ” said 
York, fervently. “It is a pity John could not 
meet with so friendly an adviser to help him in 
conducting his wooing. How do you think she 
would receive a serenade? Suppose she should 
be angry and receive me after the example of 
Mrs. Gummidge ? ” 

“ Oh, she won't,” said Peggy, confidently. 
“ She will toss down the flowers she wore when 
she sang to-day.” 

“ Were they sweet-peas ? ” he inquired. 

“ Oh, no, they were not simple sweet-peas,” 
Peggy retorted. “ Those are my flowers.” 

“ Suppose you give them to me now,” York 
requested. “ Miss Nelson might take them by 
mistake.” 

“No, no,” said Peggy, guarding her flowers 
from his vandal hands. “You can’t have these. 
You don’t want my flowers. Wait till you get 
those Miss Nelson is wearing.” 

“ Are they hollyhocks or dahlias ? ” he inquired. 
“ You might give me a clew, so that I can recog- 
nize them.” 

“ No,” Peggy declared ; “ I shall tell you noth- 
ing more.” 

Reluctantly York drew rein at Farmer Turner’s 
gate. 


204 


A REQUIEM 


cc I hate to part with you,” said he. cc If you 
were really hospitable, you would ask me in to 
tea.” 

“ So that you could meet Miss Nelson. No, 
I shall not do anything of the sort. I have done 
all for you that I am going to.” 

“ I did not think you would be so cruel,” sighed 
York. <c I know now how to sympathize with 
John.” 

Peggy merely gave her head a scornful little 
toss, and without waiting for his helping hand 
she sprang lightly to the ground and ran up the 
path to the house, leaving York to turn round 
and drive up the hill to his own domain. 


205 


Chapter XVI 
A TRIO 



Cf A T ISS NELSON won't be able to go." 

I \/ 1 “ Did n’t expect she would be. 

Had n’t the least idea that she would 
appear, when I asked her, so I can survive her 
absence.’’ 

York had left his stout double wagon at the 
gate and advanced up the path to the house, 
where he was met by Peggy, evidently dressed for 
some excursion, for on her feet was a stout pair 
of shoes, over one shoulder a light knapsack was 
strapped, and in her hand was a stick which an- 
swered very well for an alpenstock. 

206 


A TRIO 


“What is the matter with her this time?” 
York demanded. “ Of course you have some 
excuse all invented.” 

“ I don’t know what it is,” Peggy replied, 
“ unless it is headache caused by the singing 
under her window last night.” 

“ Singing under her window? ” repeated York. 

“ Yes, some one disturbed her dreadfully,” said 
Peggy, seriously, “singing under her window when 
she wanted to sleep.” 

“ Is it possible that there are wandering trou- 
badours in Cathance ?” exclaimed York. “Are 
you sure it was not John, and that he made a 
mistake in the window ? ” 

“ I never heard John sing, — 

t( ( Stars of the summer night ! 

Far in your azure deeps. 

Hide, hide your golden light ! 

She sleeps ! 

My lady sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! ’ ” 

said Peggy. “ Miss Nelson said it was very 
beautiful, though she would have preferred it 
earlier in the evening.” 

“ The moon does n’t rise until ten,” replied 
York, “and troubadours, like insane people, are 
207 


SWEET PEGGY 


always governed by the moonlight. Did Miss 
Nelson properly reward her admirer ? ” 

“ She threw down some flowers in hopes that 
he would go away.” 

“ What were they, — dahlias or hollyhocks ? ” 

“ They were the flowers she wore when she 
sang Grace’s hymn,” Peggy replied. “ They 
were all she happened to have.” 

“ Peggy, I would like to consider you a girl of 
truth,” said York, looking gravely down into the 
innocent girlish face before him. “ Did you ever 
see those before ? ” and taking out his pocket- 
book he opened it, displaying a faded bunch of 
sweet-peas whose fragrance still lingered. 

“ What are you doing with those ? ” she 
demanded. 

“ They were given me last night,” he declared, 
“ and I am wearing them over my heart, which is 
the proper thing to do with the flowers of the 
girl I love.” 

“ The girl you love ! ” repeated Peggy. 

“ Yes,” said he, gravely, carefully replacing the 
flowers, “ I told you yesterday that I was in love 
with a voice and a photograph. Last night some- 
thing else was added : a hand, a brown hand, 
dropped these flowers out of the window to me. 
Some day the whole form will appear, and I shall 
208 


A TRIO 


behold the girl I love in the flesh. Let me see 
your hand, Peggy. I want to compare it with 
the one that dropped the flowers.” 

Peggy retreated nimbly up the steps, holding 
both hands behind her, her dancing brown eyes 
veiled by their long lashes, and the wild rose 
color mantling her cheeks. 

“ I ’ve been paring apples, and my hands are 
all stains,” she declared. “ Besides, I ’m not going 
to let you compare my common, ordinary mem- 
bers with Miss Nelson’s lily-white hand.” 

“ Well, I can wait,” said York, with a sigh. 
“ I ’m beginning to think that I am the most 
patient of men. Why don’t we start? What 
are we fooling here for, wasting time ? ” 

“We are waiting for Mrs. Nelson; she isn’t 
quite ready.” 

“ Mrs. Nelson ! Is she going ? ” 

cc Of course she is,” declared Peggy. “ Did n’t 
you invite her ? ” 

“ I invited her with her daughter,” York re- 
torted. “ If Miss Nelson is not going, her mother 
can stay at home.” 

“ How rude ! ” exclaimed Peggy. “ Mrs. 
Nelson must go to chaperone us.” 

“How long since you and I needed a chape- 
rone ? ” demanded York. 


SWEET PEGGY 


“ It would not be proper to climb Hoary-Head 
without one,” the girl declared. “ It would 
greatly shock society.” 

“Then let us stop and pick up Phoebe Howe 
and Pauline Lowell/’ said York, in a resigned 
tone. “ Perhaps we had better take Mercy along 
too, and then if there were any danger of my 
speaking to you, she would prevent it.” 

Peggy’s retort was interrupted by the appear- 
ance of Mrs. Nelson with many apologies for 
keeping them waiting. York, all attention and 
full of solicitations for her comfort, helped her 
into the wagon, expressing his regret at her daugh- 
ter’s absence. Peggy seated herself demurely at 
the lady’s side, and they were about to drive off 
when Mrs. Turner came hurrying around the 
corner of the house, her apron full of rosy-cheeked 
apples which she insisted upon putting in York’s 
pocket. 

Arriving at his own house, York drew rein, and 
awakened the echoes with a series of shrill whis- 
tles which brought both Eben and Mercy out to 
the wagon. The latter had a well-filled knap- 
sack, mate to Peggy’s, which York swung over 
his shoulder ; and while Eben was climbing into 
the wagon she took the opportunity to relieve 
her mind of its latest grievance. 

210 


A TRIO 


“ You went to bed and left the front door un- 
locked again, Mr. York. There it is, just as I 
left it after I told you to be sure and fasten it.” 

C£ Well, nobody came and carried off the piano,” 
said York, easily. <c That’s all the property of 
any value there is in the house.” 

“ You never think of me,” said Mercy, in a 
hurt tone ; “ I know I shall be burgled in my 
bed some night, he ’s so careless.” 

“ Could you not lock the door when you go 
to bed ? ” Mrs. Nelson suggested. 

“How can I?” demanded Mercy. <c He ’s 
trapsin’ round till nobody knows how late. He 
never goes to bed in decent season.” 

“ I always come home sober, I believe,” said 
York. ££ You are giving Mrs. Nelson the im- 
pression that that may not always be the case.” 

££ I know there ’s nobody else in Cathance 
carries on the way you do. I wake up every 
morning expectin’ I ’ve been killed in my bed ; ” 
and having delivered herself of this contradictory 
statement, Mercy threw her apron over her head 
and went back into the house. 

Some little distance beyond the church the 
party left the main road, and, turning into the 
woods, followed the trail of an old logging road 
which brought them to the foot of Hoary-Head 


SWEET PEGGY 


where a path led up over the mountain. The 
road was rough, grass-grown, and full of old 
stumps and rocks, but as they drove slowly, 
bumping and jouncing over the uneven ground, 
they had plenty of time to note the woodland 
beauties along the way, the clumps of beautiful 
ferns growing in the shade of the forest, the car- 
pet of green moss, and the huge rocks brought 
down from the mountain and hidden in the woods 
to be decorated with snowy moss, and starred 
with tiny red lichens. They passed the old 
logging-camps, made of hard-wood logs with the 
bark curling off* in long strips and the chinks 
filled with the crisp, dry, gray moss. Marks of 
the woodsman’s axe were everywhere visible in 
the huge stumps, and the scattered chips mingled 
with the last year’s leaves. 

At the foot of the mountain Eben left them. 
Turning the wagon with great difficulty, he drove 
back over the road charged with York’s message 
to be there at six o’clock to take them home. 
As the wagon was lost sight of in the forest, they 
began the ascent of the mountain Peggy acting as 
guide. The path was rough and steep, hardly 
more than a trail, now leading them through 
interlacing branches, where York was forced to go 
ahead and clear a passage, now winding up over 


A TRIO 


the face of a ledge where Peggy kept the trail by 
the worn places in the rock which showed the 
mark of the many feet that had scaled the moun- 
tain side. A mountain torrent, now only a 
trickling stream, came down to meet them, and 
they forded the stream on stepping-stones left 
high and dry. 

“ Oh, how beautiful ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Nelson, 
as scrambling up over a ledge they came out upon 
a broad plateau surrounded by grand old trees 
and carpeted with soft green moss. “ Can we 
take a rest here ? ” 

cc We can and we will,” said York, decidedly. 
“You are pale with fatigue, Mrs. Nelson. Sit 
down and lean against this tree ; it is hard wood 
and not pitchy.” 

“I am by no means used up,” said the lady, 
smiling as she accepted the proffered seat, “ and I 
shall be all right when I get my breath. That 
last ledge was rather a tough one.” 

cc The time has come to eat,” announced Peggy, 
dropping down on the moss. “ I don't go 
another step without a sandwich.” 

“ Let us have luncheon here,” suggested Mrs. 
Nelson ; “we cannot find a more beautiful spot. 
What time is it ? ” 

“ Eleven o’clock,” said York, glancing at his 
213 


SWEET PEGGY 


watch. “An hour before dinner-time; but I 
have been longing for a glass of milk, only I 
did n’t dare say so.” 

“We will eat here,” Peggy declared, “ for the 
wind always blows a gale on the top.” 

“ I am grateful for an overcast day,” said Mrs. 
Nelson. “ The climb would have been much 
harder under the hot sun.” 

“ I wonder whether the sun is obscured by 
smoke or clouds ? ” said York, opening his knap- 
sack. “ It is too much to hope that it is the 
latter.” 

Luncheon was a very primitive affair, eaten 
with the fingers, as they had not wished to burden 
themselves with luggage. York passed the iced 
milk around in his silver drinking-cup, suggesting 
that each select a side and keep it. But in spite of 
the absence of knives, forks, and plates, each de- 
clared it to be the best lunch ever eaten, and rose, 
much refreshed, to resume the tramp. Emerging 
from the woods, they saw before them a bold, steep 
ledge of solid rock. 

“ Peggy, are you sure that this is the right 
place?” asked Mrs. Nelson. “How are we 
ever going to climb that perpendicular cliff?” 

“Come round this side,” said the girl, confi- 
dently ; “there are stepping-stones that lead to 


A TRIO 


the top. I will go ahead and give you my hand, 
and Mr. York will prevent your slipping back. ,, 

cc But won’t you need any help yourself, child ? ” 
asked Mrs. Nelson, following her reluctantly on 
a narrow platform of rock around the base of 
the cliff. 

“No, indeed,” declared Peggy. “ I have 
climbed it ever since I was a little girl.” 

York had been watching the clouds. The sky, 
a deep purple-black, seemed to hang angrily over 
the summit of old Hoary-Head, and he thought 
he heard low mutterings as of approaching tem- 
pest. The wind of which Peggy had forewarned 
them was already sweeping down over the cliff, 
sending great masses of black cloud and yellow 
smoke before it. Nature certainly wore a threat- 
ening aspect. 

“ I don’t like the look of the sky,” said he, 
approaching the two ladies. cc It is not exactly 
smiling down upon us.” 

“ Do you think we had better go on ? ” asked 
Mrs. Nelson, nervously. “ If there is going to 
be a tempest, would n’t we be better off here ? ” 

“ Oh, a tempest would be just grand from the 
top,” cried Peggy. “ I have always wished I 
might see one.” 

“ See here, Miss Peggy,” said York, looking 
21 5 


SWEET PEGGY 


at the girl, cc if you want to be blown off of old 
Hoary-Head into eternity, I ’m not quite ready 
to follow you.” 

“ You need n’t be blown off,” declared Peggy. 
“ There is a little hut, chained down to the rock, 
put there for observation parties, and we should 
be better off there than here. Do let ’s go : it 
will be just grand.” 

“Well,” said York, doubtfully, “if there is 
shelter, perhaps we had better go. It may not 
rain, after all.” 

“ And if it does, it won’t hurt us to get a little 
wet,” said Peggy, gayly. “ Come, Mrs. Nelson, 
give me your hand.” 

Reluctantly Mrs. Nelson yielded to the girl’s 
entreaties and began the last ascent of the moun- 
tain, secretly convinced that she had been a very 
foolish woman to accompany these young people 
on such a wild expedition. The stepping-stones 
wound up the almost inaccessible side of the 
mountain, and at last, breathless and heated, they 
stood on the top of old Hoary-Head, the highest 
land around the Cathance. What a view burst 
upon them ! Mile upon mile of forest ; moun- 
tain range after mountain range ; lake beyond 
lake from the mist-like gleam of the Wabasses, 
lying, as Peggy said, between heaven and earth, 
216 


A TRIO 


to the dark foam-flecked waters of the Cathance 
thousands of feet below them ! Over all lowered 
the dark, angry sky with its masses of dense black 
cloud hanging low over their heads, driven by 
the fierce wind out over the valley, and casting 
dark shadows upon the waters of the Cathance. 
From the other side of the lake rose great columns 
of smoke, enveloping Suncook in their folds, and 
meeting the flying scuds of cloud in mid-air made 
a dense blackness awful to behold. 

££ Is n’t it grand ? ” cried Peggy, facing the 
strong wind, which blew her hair back from her 
face and twisted her short skirt fantastically about 
her. 

“ Too grand,” said Mrs. Nelson, with a shud- 
der. ££ It is fearful! Hark! isn’t that thun- 
der ? ” 

££ The growl of the giant,” said Peggy, in an 
awe-struck tone. “ I always said that one lived 
here.” 

“ Child, I believe you are crazy,” said Mrs. 
Nelson, in despair. “ It is no joke to be on top 
of this mountain in a tempest.” 

££ See how close we are under the clouds,” said 
Peggy, lifting her face to the sky. “ I have 
always wanted to be here when it looked like 
this.” 


217 


SWEET PEGGY 


cc Here,” said York, in a tone of authority, cc go 
into the hut with Mrs. Nelson. This is no joke, 
and you must n’t do anything wild or foolish. I 
am going to take a look around ; stay here till I 
come back.” 

Peggy made up a little face as York conducted 
her to the hut she had told him about, but she 
said nothing as she meekly followed Mrs. Nelson 
inside. York gave the little building, securely 
fastened to the rock, a satisfactory survey, and 
then repeating his commands to Peggy, went off 
toward the northern side of the mountain with a 
rather anxious look on his face. 


218 


Chapter XVII 
A SYMPHONY 


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T HE storm was coming up from the north. 

Making his way to the back of the 
mountain and partially sheltering him- 
self behind a huge bowlder, which, poised on the 
mountain peak, looked as though a touch would 
send it crashing down over the side, York 
looked out on a scene awful in its grandeur and 
power. Below him the trees on the mountain side 
bent low as though doing homage to the mighty 
blast sweeping over them. The rushing sound 
of the wind in the forest came to his ears like a 
magnificent symphony played by nature's great 
instruments. The clouds, piled in masses and 
heaps by the driving storm, formed minarets, 
turrets, and pinnacles, torn now and then by 
jagged flashes of lightning. Black as night, they 
219 


* 


SWEET PEGGY 


looked like the giant piles of some mighty fortress 
or dungeoned castle, where dwelt the monster 
whose muttered thunder was making the moun- 
tains reverberate. 

The scene was both grand and awful ; and York, 
sheltered behind the bowlder, felt that he would 
be glad of the opportunity of witnessing it, were it 
not for the two delicate women under his care. 
The storm would be short and fierce, of that he 
could be sure ; the purple-black clouds would be 
driven across the valley, already he could see 
their shadow on the lake ; but would the two 
ladies be able to stand it ? Would the hut prove 
sufficient shelter? There was nothing to do, 
however, but care for them as best he could, and, 
above all, not let them suspect his anxiety. 
Making his way slowly across the mountain, his 
head bent against the blast which seemed trying 
to sweep everything not rooted and grounded in 
the solid rock off of the mountain-top, he carefully 
examined the chains holding the little hut, and 
finding them strong and securely fastened to the 
ledge, he felt somewhat relieved. At the door 
he was met by Mrs. Nelson. 

c< I am so glad you have come,” said she. “ I 
wish you would make Peggy stay here with me. 
It does not seem safe for her to roam over the 


220 



“He saw her standing on 
the edge of the cliffy 

— Page 221 


















r- 


















* 


















I 


A SYMPHONY 

mountain with the storm threatening to burst 
every minute.” 

“ I thought she was here,” said he. “ Where 
is she ? ” 

“ She went off the minute your back was 
turned,” the lady replied. “ She is over there 
somewhere.” 

York started in the direction Mrs. Nelson in- 
dicated toward the southern side of the mountain, 
which sloped slightly downward, the storm-wind 
pushing him along. In a few minutes he saw her 
standing on the edge of the cliff, one arm around 
an old dead birch, which would offer but a slight 
support should the storm burst suddenly upon her. 
York hurried to the spot, not daring to call, lest 
the least start might cause her to lose her balance. 

“ Little witch ! ” he muttered. “She deserves 
a good scolding. It is time she had a master.” 

Struggling against the blast he felt as though 
weights were fastened to his feet, and he seemed 
hours reaching the slender figure outlined against 
the dark sky. As she looked over her shoulder, 
he beckoned her to come with him back to the 
hut. Immediately she loosed her hold and, paus- 
ing, he waited for her to join him, when — horrors 
of horrors ! — she disappeared over the ledge. 
During the instant that York stood rooted to the 
221 


SWEET PEGGY 


spot the blood in his veins seemed turned to ice. 
The storm-wind came sweeping down upon him, 
howling and mocking as though triumphing in its 
power. What were human beings to the storm- 
wind ? It could sweep them like playthings be- 
fore it off the mountain peak, where it was 
holding high carnival, and toss them about at 
its will and pleasure. 

York felt sick and faint at the thought of what 
had happened. Peggy? bright, winsome Peggy, 
had gone over the ledge ; she was hurled down 
over the precipice, her tender body dashed and 
beaten against the rocks. He knew that he was 
rushing toward the spot where she had disappeared, 
but he seemed an eternity reaching it, for the storm- 
wind tried to beat him back and arrest his pro- 
gress. When he reached the edge of the cliff, 
would he be able to look over ? O God ! what 
would he see ? The past, the future, life itself, 
seemed to drop away from him, and he was in a 
nightmare of horror. He had reached the edge 
at last. There was the tree to which she had 
clung, and nerving himself to face the worst, he 
looked down over the cliff. Thank God it was 
not a steep precipice dropping down thousands 
of feet, as it did on the northern side ! A platform 
of rock was just below, and there was Peggy in a 
222 


A SYMPHONY 


little heap, just as she had fallen. Hardly daring 
to trust the great relief which came to him, he 
sprang down beside her. She might be stunned, 
hurt, but, thank God, that little fall could not 
have killed her ; the horrible thing he had feared 
was spared him. 

As he bent over her anxiously, Peggy suddenly 
sprang to her feet with dancing eyes, and flashed 
a gay laugh upon him. York started back as 
though he saw a ghost. 

“ Did I scare you ? ” she asked gayly. <c You 
are as white as a sheet. Did you think I had 
committed suicide and had taken a header over 
the cliff? I jumped on purpose. 0 

“ Jumped on purpose?” York repeated the 
question slowly, his eyes on the laughing, mis- 
chievous face. 

“ Yes, to give you a scare just for fun,” she 
said candidly. “ Did you really think I had 
gone over the cliff? ” 

Glancing down over the precipice from the 
platform on which, they stood, York realized with 
a shudder what a false step would have meant, and 
recalled vividly his feelings of a moment before. 

cc It did give you a turn, did n't it?” said she, 
watching him. cc It would have been rather an 
unpleasant job picking me up in pieces. You can 
223 


SWEET PEGGY 


give me a scolding if you think I deserve it,” she 
added meekly. 

“You deserve something,” York declared. 
“You frightened me nearly to death. I thought 
you were crushed, killed, and — to think you did 
it on purpose! You deserve — ” and, a sudden 
revulsion of feeling coming over him, he seized the 
girl by the shoulders, gave her a little shake, then, 
as much to his own surprise as hers, he drew her 
into his arms and kissed her. 

“ I don’t deserve that,” said the girl, drawing 
away from him indignantly and facing him with 
flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes ; “ you have no 
right to do that, if I did scare you.” 

“ See here, Peggy,” said York, earnestly, draw- 
ing a step nearer, “ when a man thinks some one 
has gone down over a cliff like that, he suddenly 
realizes how dear that some one is. You have 
played one trick too many on me, and must take 
the consequences.” 

cc But it is n’t proper,” cried Peggy, backing 
up against the rock with both hands behind her. 

“We’ll go to the minister’s, then, and make 
it proper,” declared York. 

“ But you are in love with a voice and a photo- 
graph,” she persisted. “You told me so only 
this morning.” 

224 


A SYMPHONY 


“ But there is no satisfaction in kissing a photo- 
graph,” said he, “ and the voice I 've gone back on. 
She need n't sing to me any more. I don't care 
a straw for the voice ; you are the girl I love, 
Peggy. Don't be hard on me.” 

“ You are excited because you thought I went 
head-first down over the cliff,” said she, provok- 
ingly. “ It has unhinged your brain, and you 
don’t know what you are doing. I must take 
you home and shut you up until you are in 
your right frame of mind.” 

“ Peggy, do you want another shaking ? ” and 
York looked threatening. 

“ It is well I brought a chaperone,” said 
Peggy, still sheltering herself by the great gray 
ledge. “ I did not suppose that a little scare 
would unbalance you so ; or I would not have 
done it.” 

“ Peggy, be serious,” commanded York. “ I 
am in earnest ; I want you to be my wife.” 

“Your wife! Me! Oh, you cannot mean 
that ; ” and Peggy's eyes opened wide, and her 
lips parted over her little white teeth. 

“Why should I not mean it?” he demanded. 

“ I am not fine enough, old enough, and I 
do not know enough,” she declared. 

“ You will grow to it,” he made answer ; “ and 
15 225 


SWEET PEGGY 


as to being fine enough, where shall I find any 
one sweeter or better ? ” 

“ The lady with the voice,” retorted Peggy. 
“ You will jilt me the next time you hear her.” 

“ I do not care a rush for the lady or her voice 
either, and you know it,” he retorted. “It was 
your window I sang under last night. It was your 
flowers I wanted. It is you that I love, and you 
know it. Come, Peggy, do not be cruel. Yes or 
no ; do not keep me in suspense.” 

“ It is not proper to stay so long away from 
our chaperone,” declared Peggy. “ She will think 
we are playing Jack and Jill. It is going to rain, 
too ; and see that flash of lightning. We must go 
to poor Mrs. Nelson or she will become as upset 
and unbalanced as you are.” 

“ If her excitement should take the same turn 
as mine, you would not consider it so very 
strange,” said he, grimly. 

“ But it might lead her to kiss you, and I 
should not like that.” 

“ Peggy ! ” 

But Peggy was up over the cliff by a way 
known only to herself, and was speeding away to- 
ward the hut before York could say another word. 
There was nothing for him to do but follow her ; 
but what different music the storm-wind was now 
zz6 


A SYMPHONY 


making! When he had last stood on the moun- 
tain brow, he had thought it resembled the shriek 
of a maniac ; but now, with Peggy, tantalizing, be- 
witching Peggy, running on ahead with a back- 
ward glance at him out of her dancing brown eyes, 
it was all harmony and melody. 

“Where have you been ? ” exclaimed Mrs. Nel- 
son, as Peggy, laughing, rosy, and breathless, darted 
into the hut. “ I have been so anxious, for I did 
not know what terrible thing had happened.” 

“ We have been watching the storm,” said 
Peggy, demurely. “ I was having a lovely time 
in a dear little nook where I could watch and not 
feel the wind, when Mr. York came and inter- 
rupted me.” 

“Very sorry if I disturbed you,” said York, 
with a reproachful glance which brought a brighter 
glint to Peggy’s eyes and more roguish dimples 
round her mouth. 

“ I think this is the safest place,” said Mrs. 
Nelson. “ I am glad Mr. York insisted upon 
your coming here.” 

“ He did not insist,” retorted Peggy; “ I came 
of my own accord. I never obey any one.” 

“ Indeed !” said Mrs. Nelson, with an indul- 
gent smile. “ Since when have you been so 
rebellious ? ” 

227 


SWEET PEGGY 


“ Since she found she had a master/' said York, 
quietly. 

“ Oh, see ! ” cried Peggy, cc there comes the 
rain. We came just in time. If it had not been 
for my prudence and foresight, we should have 
got caught out there on the ledge.” 

The hut grew dark as a thick sheet of gray rain 
was driven before the wind. A moment, and they 
were in the heart of it with everything obscured. 
At the coming of the rain, the wind ceased its 
symphony, and the only sound that broke the 
stillness was the beating on the roof, and the hiss- 
ing on the gray rock outside as the drops pelted 
down on them. The roof was far from being 
water proof, and for a moment it seemed as though 
they might as well be outside ; but the fierceness of 
the shower was soon over ; the gray sheet grew 
thinner, and soon York called them to look out 
toward the north. Where it had been so black 
when they first came up on the mountain was 
now clear blue sky, and the valley lay in a golden 
mist. The storm was passing over Hoary-Head, 
and sweeping down the mountain side, left them 
bathed in yellow sunshine, which soon dried the 
moisture the thirsty earth had drunk so eagerly. 

Standing under a clear blue sky, they watched 
the course of the storm across the valley. Soon 

228 


A SYMPHONY 


the Cathance grew black beneath its shadow, and 
the trees of the forest bent their heads before its 
breath. Passing on to the south, it seemed to melt 
away into mist, and with the sun shining as though 
it had never been obscured they began the descent 
of the mountain to the place where Eben was 
waiting with the double wagon to take them 
home. 


229 


Chapter XVIII 
THE THEME 




r i Tr^y f f 


*& 




a 




ND so you really intend to marry this 
girl ? ” 

“ I do. Peggy Turner, and no one 
else, shall be my wife provided she will have me. 
But sometimes I question whether I shall be so 
fortunate as to win her ; ” and York both smiled 
and sighed as he thought of Peggy and her fas- 
cinating ways. 

“ But she is so young, — hardly more than a 

child. ,, 

“ She is young, Leo, I grant,” York replied, 
“ but no child. I have seen her display qualities 
and depth of mind which prove that she is enter- 
230 


A 


THE THEME 

mg upon womanhood, and a noble womanhood 
too.” 

“ She is both sweet and lovely,” the lady 
admitted. “ I am very fond of her, and you 
know it has long been my wish to see you hap- 
pily married.” 

“Yes, and you have picked out wives for me 
by the score,” declared her brother. “ It was to 
escape your matrimonial plans that I came here 
for the summer.” 

“ I know it,” replied his sister. “ I have been 
so provoked with you, and it serves you just right 
that you met your fate at last. If this little 
country girl only makes you happy — ,” and the 
lady looked doubtfully at the brother of whom 
she had always been so proud. 

“One thing is sure,” said York, with energy: 
“ I cannot be happy without Peggy.” 

“ You say that she neither sings nor plays,” said 
the lady, “and music is the delight of your life.” 

“I shall teach her,” York replied. “That is 
one of the pleasures I am looking forward to.” 

“ You say that you have never met the little 
singer? ” 

“ No, but I have heard her and take back all 
that I said about her last winter. She can sing ; 
has a magnificent voice. For once your judg- 


SWEET PEGGY 


ment was not blinded by romantic enthusiasm. 
I beg your pardon, Leo.” 

“You ought to,” replied his sister. “You 
said some hard things about her last winter.” 

“ I was a conceited ass,” York frankly admitted. 
“ You know that I am afraid of being bored by 
these geniuses you are continually discovering.” 

“ I do not see how you could spend the whole 
summer here and not meet her,” said the lady. 
“ That seems the strangest thing.” 

“ It seemed strange to me,” he replied, “ and I 
could not understand it until I learned that Miss 
Nelson and your wonderful Daisy were one and 
the same person. Now I suppose she intention- 
ally avoided me because some of my remarks were 
repeated to her.” 

“ Yes,” his sister replied ; “ I invited her to my 
house on purpose that my brother might hear 
her sing, and when my brother failed to make an 
appearance she was too bright and quick not to 
guess why.” 

“ Did she know that I said I had no use for 
budding geniuses who would never bloom ? ” 
asked York. 

“ Yes, and several other remarks of a like 
nature,” his sister replied. “It serves you just 
right, Max ; I hope it will be a lesson to you.” 

232 


THE THEME 


“ Oh, Peggy is rapidly taking the conceit out 
of me,” said he. “ I suppose she is partner in 
the conspiracy, as she told me the girl’s name was 
Charlotte.” 

“ Daisy is a name I gave her ; no one else 
calls her that. She is so sweet and dainty, it just 
suits her.” 

“ I ’m sorry, but see here, Leo,” said York, in 
a confidential tone, “ she does n’t look so very 
sweet and dainty in her photograph.” 

cc Her photograph ! ” repeated his sister. 

“ Where have you seen that ? ” 

“Why, I have it,; Peggy gave it to me long 
ago.” 

“ Let me see it,” demanded the lady. 

York took from his pocket the photograph he 
had so long cherished and handed it to his sister. ~ 
The lady glanced at it once, then handed it back. 

cc That is not Daisy,” said she, briefly. 

“ Who the deuce is it, then ? ” demanded York. 

“ It is not Daisy,” his sister repeated. 

cc Another of Peggy’s tricks,” said he, putting 
it back into his pocket. “ That girl has fooled 
me all summer. I shall keep this to confront her 
with. I suppose she and your mysterious Daisy 
have had a nice time over your humble servant.” 

Mrs. Eastman sat thoughtfully surveying her 
2 33 


SWEET PEGGY 


brother, the news of whose engagement had taken 
her entirely by surprise. She had arrived at 
Cathance the day before, to the astonishment of 
York and the consternation of Mercy Palmer, 
who at sight of the tall, elegant stranger with 
sweeping skirts and white jewelled hands had 
utterly collapsed. 

“It’s no use, Mr. York/’ said she, solemnly; 
“I can’t have her here. I agreed to keep house 
for a single man, and I can’t have fine ladies 
thrown in.” 

cc Of course not, Phillis,” York assented ; “ it 
would naturally embarrass you to have her here 
where you have never learned to masticate with 
your molars.” 

cc I don’t know nothin’ about molars,” Mercy 
retorted ; “ but it ’s out of the question havin’ 
fine ladies with long trains eatin’ of your victuals 
and a-lookin’ round your house that ain’t never 
had a spring cleanin’. If Mis’ Eastman comes 
here, you ’ll have to git somebody else to wait 
on her ; I sha’n’t.” 

“ Nothing shall part us, Mercy,” said York, 
soothingly. “ Mrs. Eastman shall not come 
here. She has come without an invitation, and 
must stay at Mr. Turner’s ; there is no room 
for her here.” 


234 


THE THEME 


“ Mis’ Turner can hev her,” Mercy declared. 
cc Peggy knows lots of new fancy dishes and can 
cook for city folks, but I can’t, and that ’s the 
end of it.” 

So it came to pass that Mrs. Eastman was in- 
formed she could not take up her abode at her 
brother’s, and since she had come to Cathance 
without an invitation, she must find what accom- 
modation she could. Although turned away from 
her brother’s inhospitable door, Mrs. Eastman 
bore him no ill-will, and early in the morning 
walked across the fields from Farmer Turner’s 
and was now seated in the front room, while 
Mercy, who had fled at her approach, was leaning 
over Phoebe Howe’s gate gossiping about the 
fine lady who had so unexpectedly appeared in 
their midst. 

“ Suppose you come over to the house, Max,” 
said the lady, watching her long brother, who was 
stretched so indolently out before her, cc and see 
Daisy. You owe her an apology.” 

“ Nothing seems easier, I admit,” he returned ; 
<c but, my dear Leo, I have gone over to the 
house to see Daisy, or the divine Charlotte, 
whichever she may be, a dozen times, and she 
always vanishes at my approach.” 

“ I will arrange it,” said his sister. “ I will 

235 


SWEET PEGGY 


conceal you and then coax her to sing. When 
she finishes, suppose you walk suddenly in upon 
her before she has time to escape. ,, 

“ That sounds very dramatic,” said York, lazily, 
cc and I 'll do it to please you, and because I owe 
Daisy an apology, but I don’t care a rap for her, 
if she has even a divine voice.” 

<c You are very much in love with Peggy, I 
suppose,” said his sister, thoughtfully, cc to the 
exclusion of divine voices.” 

“ Yes, Leo ; you can’t entrap me, no matter how 
many plans you lay,” he declared. “ Peggy is 
the one girl in the world for me. I want you 
to get that idea firmly impressed on your mind 
before we go any farther.” 

“Why don’t you call her by her name, — 
Margaret ? ” said the lady. “ Peggy sounds so 
— undignified.” 

“ Peggy is not noted for her dignity,” he 
responded. 

“ Will you call her Peggy when she is your 
wife ? ” she asked. 

“ She is Peggy now and always,” he declared. 
“It strikes me as being more sensible than your 
sentimental Daisy. But come ; I ’m ready for 
the grand announcement. I ’m always willing 
to go to Mr. Turner’s.” 

236 


THE THEME 


cc You can’t see Peggy this morning,” declared 
the lady, “ for she is deep in the mysteries of 
salad dressing.” 

As they came out of the house and passed 
down the hill together, they were the observed of 
all observers. Pauline Lowell came out and joined 
Phoebe and Mercy at the gate on purpose to 
watch them. 

“ What a handsome couple ! ” said she, in a 
sentimental tone. “ She ’s the perfect image of 
him, and has got the same handsome dark 
eyes.” 

“ Guess they ain’t the same,” remarked 
Phoebe, “for I saw his in his own head a little 
while ago.” 

C£ I s’pose you think that is smart,” said 
Pauline, in a hurt tone, cc but it is very rude to 
take a person up so. You knew well enough 
what I meant.” 

“ I wonder which of ’em is the oldest ? ” said 
Phoebe, looking after the retreating couple and 
paying no heed to Pauline. 

(C He is, of course,” Pauline declared. “You 
can see that by lookin’ at ’em ; she ’s so young.” 

“ Hump ! ” ejaculated Mercy ; “ she ’s a good 
six years older than he is, for I heard him say so. 
She’s thirty-five or -six if she is a day.” 

237 


SWEET PEGGY 


cc Thirty-five or -six ! ” exclaimed Pauline. “ I 
never would believe it.” 

“ Fine feathers make fine birds,” announced 
Phoebe. cc You and I would look young and 
handsome if we could dress up in fine clothes and 
had nothing to do but enjoy ourselves.” 

“ You can speak for yourself,” retorted Pauline ; 
“ but 1 'm not so conceited as to think that any 
amount of finery would make me as handsome as 
Mrs. Eastman.” 

“ She 's no chicken, in spite of her looks,” de- 
clared Mercy. cc She's the mother of three great 
boys ; I 've heard him tell about 'em times 
enough. They 're goin' to Mis' Turner's, jest as 
I thought ; he 's awfully stuck on Peggy.” 

<c See how he holds open the gate for her,” 
said the sentimental Pauline. <c He 's just as 
polite to his own sister as he is to any other 
woman. Such a nice young man as he is ! " 
York was left in the porch with orders to keep 
perfectly still, so that the sensitive singer would 
not suspect his presence, and Mrs. Eastman dis- 
appeared inside. Nothing loath, York appropri- 
ated the farmer's comfortable old armchair, and, 
taking off his hat, he leaned back, enjoying the 
coolness of the woodbine-hung porch. No 
sound broke the stillness but the chirp of the 
238 


THE THEME 


grasshopper in the sun-scorched fields, where not 
even a breeze was stirring. The white, dusty 
road, winding up over the hill, was destitute of 
travellers, and the lake lay blue and still under 
the bright midday sun. 

Presently the silence was broken by the sweet 
notes of the piano. Leo was playing, and York 
raised his head to listen. He enjoyed his sister’s 
music, for her touch was perfect, her execution 
wonderful, and the expression proved that the 
music came from the heart of the woman. It 
was remarkable that she kept up her practice, 
considering her three boys, the home of which 
she was the presiding genius, and the numerous 
social duties that claimed her attention. To listen 
to her playing, one would think music was the one 
thing for which she lived ; but none knew better 
than her brother that it was only one of many 
claims on her time and ceaseless energy. This 
girl to whom he had been ordered to listen 
was one of her fads. Leo was always discover- 
ing geniuses, and that only a few of her duck- 
lings proved to be swans was the reason he had 
refused his aid and approbation to the young 
singer the winter before. He was sorry that 
the girl had heard of his remarks, — he had 
meant them for Leo, not for her, — and now he 
z 39 


SWEET PEGGY 


would beg her pardon, for she did possess a 
truly fine voice. 

“ When and where shall I earliest meet her ? 

What are the words she first will say ? 

By what dear name shall I learn to greet her ? 

I know not now, but ’t will come some day.” 

His own song that he had sung to Peggy 
numberless times ! Did this girl, this stranger, 
know of the jokes and secrets that were sacred 
between him and his love ? He listened, at first 
in the spirit of criticism, but it was useless ; the 
voice wove its old spell and charm, and he could 
neither criticise nor judge, but only listen and 
drink in the beauty of tone and expression. As 
soon as the last note died away, he sprang to his 
feet and went into the house, but he found no one 
but Peggy and his sister in the room, the latter 
just rising from the piano, the former standing in 
the middle of the floor arrayed in the bewitching 
white tire with the pink bows. 

“Just as I said,” he exclaimed. “She has 
vanished, just as I said she would. I won’t 
have any more of this nonsense. You can give 
her my humble apologies for what I said and did 
last winter ; and if she won’t accept them, why, all 
right and good. She can continue to run every 

240 


THE THEME 


time she sees me if she wants to ; I’m sure I 
do not care. You can conceal her in the china 
closet when you want her to sing, and I am by.” 

Mrs. Eastman and Peggy were both laughing, 
and when York finished his remarks the latter, 
sitting down to the piano, began to sing: — 

“ I gave her kisses four, kisses four, kisses four, 

I gave her kisses four, kisses four, 

I gave her kisses four. 

And she said she wanted more ; 

So I kept a-kissing on, on, and on.” 

tc Peggy ! ” York caught her hands off* of the 
piano and gazed down into her face. “ Was it 
you? You?” He got no further, for surprise 
and astonishment choked his utterance. 

Springing off of the piano stool, Peggy made a 
low courtesy, then stood before him, her hands 
meekly folded, her eyes cast down. 

“Yes, your worship,” said she, meekly, “it 
was I.” 

“Was it you who sang Verdi’s Requiem in 
the woods ? ” gasped York. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Did you sing under my window that night? ” 

“Yes, sir, but I ’ll never do it again.” 

“Did you sing c In Heavenly Love Abiding’ 
in church that Sunday ? ” 

16 241 


SWEET PEGGY 


“ Yes, sir. I did not dream that you would 
go. Was n't I glad when you seated yourself 
under the gallery ! ” 

“Was it you I heard singing down by the 
lake that afternoon ? ” 

“ Yes, sir. I thought you never would take 
yourself out of the way.” 

“ And you sang at the funeral ? ” 

“ Yes, sir. Anything more ? ” 

York dropped onto the sofa, staring at Peggy 
in silence. 

“ And you are Daisy,” said he, at length. 

“ That is what your sister calls me,” Peggy 
replied. “ That is her name for me.” 

“Don't you think it just suits her?” asked 
Mrs. Eastman, looking fondly at the girl. 

“ Hum,” said York, slowly, “ I think that 
elderberry would be more appropriate ; ” and he 
watched to see the wild-rose color he loved 
appear in the girl’s cheeks. 

“ Is n’t that lover-like ? ” exclaimed Peggy, 
appealing to Mrs. Eastman. “ I thought he 
would fall at my feet, kiss the hem of my dress, 
— murmur, c My queen ! my queen ! ' Instead of 
that he compares me to an elderberry ! Well, 
life is full of disappointments.” 

“ I am wondering,” said York, slowly, “if the 
242 


THE THEME 


recording angel has tears enough to blot out all 
the fibs you have told me this summer.” 

“ Did you ever? ” exclaimed Peggy, again turn- 
ing to Mrs. Eastman. “ Would you marry a man 
who accused you of fibbing ?” 

“No, I do not believe I would/’ said the lady, 
smiling. “You would be throwing yourself 
away.” 

“ Will you please tell me who that is ? ” de- 
manded York, producing the photograph. 

“ That is Mrs. Nelson’s daughter, just as 
I told you,” Peggy declared. “ She does sing 
beautifully. If it had not been for her, I 
should never have discovered I had a voice, 
nor gone to New York to study last winter. 
They have been very kind to me, Mrs. Nel- 
son and her daughter ; much kinder than cer- 
tain gentlemen who have no use for budding 
geniuses.” 

“ Hum,” said York, cc suppose you sit down 
here and explain yourself ; ” and he made room for 
her at his side. 

cc No,” said Peggy, firmly, “ I will stand until 
my character is cleared. You will be my witness, 
will you not, Mrs. Eastman ? ” 

“ Yes, I ’ll defend you, Daisy,” said the lady, 
gayly. 


243 


SWEET PEGGY 


cc I do not suppose Miss Nelson has been here 
this summer at all,” York began. 

“No, I have not kept her concealed in the 
china closet/’ Peggy returned. 

“ Then who is the lady boarder I used to 
watch for when I was lame ? ” York demanded. 

“ Why, Mrs. Nelson, to be sure,” replied 
Peggy. “ Is she not tall and thin, and is her hair 
its natural color ? ” she demanded triumphantly. 

“ I see,” said York, in a hurt tone, cc you have 
played on my credulity and deceived me all sum- 
mer. If you cared for me, you would be sorry 
to think how you have imposed on my trusting 
innocence.” 

“ If you cared for me” Peggy retorted, “ you 
would be sorry when you think of the cruel 
things you said about me last winter, — me, a 
poor little country girl, going in fear and trem- 
bling to your sister’s to sing before the great, 
grand Mogul whose frown or approbation would 
decide my fate. I went, all nervous and shaky, 
to sing for you, and you never came near. 
When I heard that you said your sister was 
always picking up geese and expecting them to 
turn out swans, it is no wonder that I crept back 
to Cathance to hide my diminished head.” 

“O Peggy, Peggy,” exclaimed York, “ you 


THE THEME 


plunge me into the depths of remorse. To think 
it was you I made those speeches about, — you, 
my little Jenny Lind, whose voice I fell in love 
with the first time I heard it.” 

<c You had better feel bad,” said Peggy, severely. 
xc It was a great deal worse than a little decep- 
tion practised in pure self-defence.” 

“ I can never forgive myself, Peggy,” said 
York, meekly, cc but I will forgive you if you will 
forgive me.” 

“ I have been brought up to forgive my ene- 
mies,” said Peggy, graciously, “ so I shall have to 
practise my Christian grace toward you.” 

“ When people forgive each other don’t they 
seal their bargain with a holy kiss ? ” suggested 
York. 

<c No, that custom is obsolete,” said Peggy, in 
a business-like tone. “ They sign papers nowa- 
days never to do so any more.” 

“ Think of the time we have lost this summer,” 
said York, with a sigh, “ the duets we might 
have sung, the songs we might have learned.” 

“ It is your own fault, Max,” said Mrs. East- 
man. “ I did my best to bring you and Peggy 
together last winter.” 

“ I know,” he admitted ; “ I ought to have a 
bag to put my head in. But come, I want to 

245 


SWEET PEGGY 


make up for lost time. I want to see Peggy 
sing ; ” and springing to his feet he went over to 
the piano. 

“ There is the dinner-bell,” exclaimed Peggy. 
“It is time to eat now. Sometime if you are 
good and well behaved I will sing for you, but I 
shall have to think about it a long time first, for 
1 believe I shall be frightened when I see you 
looking right at me ; ” and before York could ex- 
postulate she ran out of the room, and soon they 
heard her merry voice calling her father in to 
dinner. 


246 


Chapter XIX 

THE BRIDAL CHORUS 





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F U AHE drought was broken. The fall rains 
had begun with a three days' steady 
downpour. The mountains were no 
longer wrapped in smoke by day and flame by 
night; the dusty road was deep with mud; the 
lake was hidden in a thick gray mist ; the forests, 
beginning to put on their autumn dress, were 
drenched ; and the brooks and mountain torrents 
were beginning to complain. 

Seated before the open fire in Farmer Turner’s 
pleasant sitting-room watching Peggy, in a gay red 
shirt waist, as she sat before a little table copy- 
ing an exercise in harmony, York did not care 
how hard it poured. The dash of the rain against 
the window-pane and the roaring of the wind 
247 


SWEET PEGGY 


down the chimney were rather pleasant than 
otherwise by their contrast. 

“ Don’t you think it is time we decided the 
question, Peggy ? ” he asked at length, breaking 
a prolonged pause. 

“ What question?” asked Peggy, suspending 
her pen over her paper. 

“ When we shall be married.” 

“ Please don’t distract my thoughts, Max,” 
said Peggy, sweetly. “ I ’ll get consecutive fifths 
if you do ; they are the bane of my existence.” 

“ Peggy ! ” 

Peggy looked up from under her eyelashes 
with some slight apprehension, for she had never 
heard York speak in just that way before. 

“ What is it ? ” she asked meekly. 

“ Put that music away. I want to have a seri- 
ous talk. No nonsense; I ’m in earnest.” 

Peggy slipped her paper and music score into 
a drawer, and, resting her elbows on the table, 
leaned her chin on her hands, looking doubtfully 
across at her lover. 

“ I ’m ready, Max,” she announced. 

“ I want to know,” said York, slowly, “when 
we are going to be married ? ” 

“ Why, sometime, I suppose,” she faltered, 
“ when I am old enough and wise enough.” 


THE BRIDAL CHORUS 


“ Then/’ said York, calmly, cc I think I will set 
the date the middle of October; that will be in 
about three weeks.” 

Peggy gave a little gasp. 

“ Three weeks ! ” she echoed. “ Three years, 
you mean.” 

“ No,” said he, decidedly; “three weeks. By 
that time you will be plenty old enough and wise 
enough.” 

“You expect me to accomplish a great deal in 
three weeks,” Peggy retorted. “Three years 
will not be long enough. Why, I am going to 
study for years and years ; you told me I might.” 

“You shall study all you want to,” said he, 
kindly. “ You can study as my wife more and 
better than you can as Peggy Turner. You told 
me once you wanted a year in Germany. Well, 
you shall have it. I will take you there, and you 
may stay as long as you like.” 

Peggy’s heart fluttered like a bird in a cage, 
and she remained silent, for she knew that if she 
spoke, her voice would tremble and betray her 
feelings. 

“ I must go to New York soon,” York contin- 
ued, “and when I go I want you to go with me. 
We will be married in the church, so that all 
Cathance can see you made my bride.” 

2 49 


SWEET PEGGY 


“ In three weeks ? ” exclaimed Peggy. “ Oh, 
I could not do it ; I have no clothes.” 

“ You can be married in the white muslin you 
wore at Grace’s funeral,” said York, calmly; “ and 
when we get to New York Leo will help you get 
whatever you need.” 

“ If that is n’t just like a man,” exclaimed 
Peggy, determined she would not be serious. 
“ You think all that is necessary is for you to 
say to a girl, c Come, put on your hat, and we ’ll 
go over to the church and be married.’ ” 

“ Peggy,” York had risen and was standing by 
the table looking down upon her, “ I wonder if 
you really love me ? ” 

“H ow often do you need to be assured of the 
fact ? ” asked the girl, with a little upward glint of 
the eye. “ Let me see, how many times have I 
told you ? ” and she began to count on her fin- 
gers : “ that day on the mountain, once; the even- 
ing on the lake, twice — ” 

“ I wish you would be serious,” interrupted 
York. “ I want to know if you really love me 
well enough to take me for better or for worse, 
for richer or for poorer, in sickness or in health, 
until death do us part.” 

He spoke seriously, earnestly, in a way Peggy 
had never heard him before, and she felt a little 
250 


THE BRIDAL CHORUS 


frightened. Not daring to look up and meet his 
gaze, she fixed her eyes on the wood fire flickering 
on the hearth. 

“ Answer me, Peggy,” said he. “ If you love 
me as I love you, you will be as willing to marry 
me the middle of October as you will be in three 
years from now.” 

“ But it is so sudden, Max,” she pleaded, “ and 
I am so young. What will father and mother 
say ? ” 

“They are willing; I have spoken to them 
about it.” 

“ Oh, you have,” retorted Peggy. “ I did n’t 
suppose they would be so willing to part with 
me.” 

“ They feel that they are going to lose you, 
anyway,” York replied. “ They know that they 
cannot keep a singing bird up here in Cathance ; 
and as you are going out into the great world, they 
would rather you should go with me. I thought 
you would feel the same,” he added reproachfully. 

“Well, perhaps I do,” said Peggy, slowly, her 
eyes still on the fire. 

A look of satisfaction crossed York’s face, and 
pushing the little table out of the way, he seated 
himself at Peggy’s side. 

“ Then you will marry me the middle of Octo- 
251 


SWEET PEGGY 

ber,” said he, bending to get a glimpse of her 
face. 

“ I suppose so,” said she, slowly, “ if you won’t 
have me any other time. It seems to be now or 
never ; and you see I am so awfully in love I feel 
that it would be safest to take you when I can 
get you.” 

“ Peggy,” exclaimed York, joyfully, “ you are a 
dear. What did you mean by frightening me 
so ? ” 

“ I shall be married in my old clothes,” she 
went on ; “ and all Cathance shall see me do it.” 

cc We will spring it on Leo too late for her to 
make any objections,” said York, in a tone of sat- 
isfaction. “ I did not dare let her know my 
plans, for she would have insisted upon receptions 
and I do not know what all, so that the fashionables 
could see my bride. We will have the wedding up 
here all by ourselves, then slip away where fashion 
and society cannot get at us.” 

“Yes,” said Peggy, in a business-like tone, 
“ for I must go to work and study hard in 
order to get ready for my career.” 

York looked at her sharply, but made no re- 
mark on the subject of careers ; it would be well 
to wait until she was his wife before discussing 
that question. 


252 


THE BRIDAL CHORUS 


For the next three weeks the wedding was the 
principal topic of conversation all around the lake. 
Perhaps the bride and groom were the two who 
made the least preparation for the grand event, 
for while every one else was discussing toilets, 
presents, and decorations, they were rowing on 
the lake, climbing the hills, visiting all their fa- 
vorite places, and spending the time, when not 
out of doors, singing and practising. 

Mrs. Turner, who had invited all Cathance to 
a great wedding feast at the old farmhouse, went 
about her preparations, stopping now and then to 
apply the corner of her apron to her eyes ; while 
the farmer, going about his work, would pause as 
the beautiful voice was heard through an open 
window, and, standing with the tears rolling 
down over his rough cheeks, listen to the tuneful 
cadence as it rose and fell. 

John Thompson, poor fellow, was sure that 
his heart was breaking, and grew quite thin and 
hollow-eyed as the days went on. Peggy was 
going to marry the singing fellow, just as he knew 
she would. She would be a great lady, as far be- 
yond his reach as the stars in heaven. John was 
sure that he should never get over his trouble, 
and felt that life held no hope or interest for him. 
Should Peggy return to Cathance at some future 
253 


SWEET PEGGY 


time, she would find only a white slab in the 
churchyard bearing his name. Would she drop 
a tear on the grave ? he wondered. Poor fellow ! 
he was sincere in his love and grief, and did not 
realize how, when Peggy’s bright presence had 
vanished from the familiar scenes, time, that great 
healer, would bind up his wounds, and he would 
come to learn that there was still something left 
to live for. 

Mercy Palmer was satisfied at last, for she was 
given permission to clean and close the house. 
York had packed his things and shipped them to 
New York ; and now that most of his time was 
spent at Farmer Turner’s, he told Mercy she 
might do anything she pleased to the house 
before closing it for the season. 

Pauline Lowell had not been so excited for 
years. A wedding ! a romantic, picturesque wed- 
ding, right there ! The poor, lonely, sentimental 
creature talked of it by day and dreamed of it by 
night. In her eyes York was a prince, and Peggy 
an idealized being who had just stepped from the 
pages of the romantic literature of her girlhood. 
She went over to the farmhouse to talk with 
bated breath about the preparations, shed tears 
over the dainty white muslin Peggy was going 
to “ stand up ” in, and gazed with clasped hands 
2 54 


THE BRIDAL CHORUS 


at the few presents which were on exhibition. 
Phoebe’s interest was fully as keen, but not so 
romantic. She was consumed with curiosity as 
to the amount of York’s bank account, the 
price paid for the groom’s present to the bride, 
the cost of the magnificent bride’s cake Farmer 
Turner had sent to Mountfort to secure. She 
willingly offered her services to assist in the prep- 
arations, and knew the exact amount of every- 
thing provided for the wedding feast. 

The most important question with the two old 
maids was the selecting and purchasing of a joint 
present for the bride. They could not agree, for 
Pauline’s ideas were romantic and lavish, while 
Phoebe’s were practical and economical. Many 
and exciting were the discussions held, and no 
conclusion would have been reached but for 
Mrs. Nelson, who, when consulted, suggested 
that it be a souvenir spoon of Mountfort in 
remembrance of the never-to-be-forgotten day 
spent there. This meeting with their approba- 
tion, she was intrusted with the purchase, and as 
she added somewhat to the amount intrusted to 
her, the spoon was a very handsome one and 
made a great show among the few simple gifts. 

The wedding day was a dream of beauty. The 
purple haze of October brooded over lake and 
255 


SWEET PEGGY 


mountain ; the forests, robed in their autumn 
beauty, flamed with the brilliant scarlet of the 
maple, and gleamed with the pale gold of the 
dogwood and silver birch. Old Hoary-Head’s 
gray summit rose from a mass of brilliant dyes, 
and even from the blackened forests of Suncook 
the hardy roundwood berries flashed out in the 
sunshine. The Cathance, a beautiful deep blue, 
lay calm and peaceful, bearing on its bosom the 
reflection of the tinted shores and the soft, warm 
sky, over which great white clouds were drifting. 

The wedding was at eleven in the morning, 
and long before ten people began to gather. 
From all around the lake they came, for the 
church doors were thrown open to all, and soon 
the fence was lined with farm wagons, as men, 
women, and children, all in their Sunday best, 
lingered on the church steps discussing the bride 
and groom, the principal topic of interest. 

The church, decorated by Peggy's girl friends, 
was transformed into a bower of beauty. The 
high, old-fashioned gallery was almost hidden 
from sight by great branches of autumn leaves ; 
the altar was decked with stately brakes ; and 
graceful ferns, turned a delicate cream color by 
the frost, were banked up behind the pulpit. 
Long before eleven the building was packed, men 
256 


THE BRIDAL CHORUS 


and boys standing in the side aisles. The centre 
was left free for the bridal party, and soon they 
came. The bride, dressed in her simple white 
muslin, leaned on her father’s arm. Very beau- 
tiful she looked with the white roses in her bonny 
bright hair, and the great bunch of fragrant sweet- 
peas in her hand. York met her at the altar, and 
the simple ceremony was performed. 

<c I, Margaret, take thee. Maxwell.” 

In the stillness every word was distinctly heard. 
Pauline Lowell wept throughout the entire service, 
and never ceased to regret that because she had 
her handkerchief to her eyes she did not see the 
bridegroom when he bent his tall head to kiss his 
girlish bride. But Phoebe Howe lost nothing. 
Bolt upright in her seat, nothing escaped her sharp 
gray eyes. She knew to an inch the length of 
Mrs. Eastman’s train, and could have described 
minutely the watch-charm Mr. Eastman nervously 
fingered during the entire ceremony. She saw that 
Farmer Turner had a new suit on purpose for the 
occasion, and that Mrs. Turner had on the black 
silk and real lace collar which, kept packed away 
in a camphor chest in the attic, rarely saw the 
light of day. 

As she passed slowly down the aisle leaning 
on her husband’s arm, Peggy glanced with smil- 
17 257 


SWEET PEGGY 


ing eyes and lips right and left at the dear faces 
that had looked so fondly upon her all through 
her happy childhood and girlhood. Dear old 
Cathance, with its purple hillsides and gleaming 
lakes, its true-hearted, pure-minded, faithful men 
and women ! She would be a girl among them no 
more. A beautiful chapter in her life had closed. 
What would open to her next ? As York led her 
out into the warm sunshine, she saw the familiar 
scene through a mist of happy tears. Beyond 
those hills lay her future. Where would it lead 
her? And so, — 

“ Across the hills, and far away 

Beyond their utmost purple rim. 

Beyond the night, across the day. 

Thro’ all the world she follow’d him.” 


258 


Chapter XX 
A DUET 


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O NE of the great ocean liners was lying at 
her dock making preparations to sail. 
Her mighty engines were getting up 
steam, sending throbs of life all through her great 
body. Down in the hold boxes and bales, trunks 
and baggage of all kinds, were being stowed, while 
loaded drays were driven down on the dock. 

The splendor of a perfect October day was 
flinging its red sunlight over the great dark city, 
gilding the dome of the World Building and 
causing the tower of Trinity Church to reflect 
back its light. The Statue of Liberty, holding 
aloft the torch of freedom in her great hand, was 
softened and beautified by the warm sunlight 
pouring down upon her, and even the smoke of 
the great human hive was illumined by its rays. 
Up and down the North River, across from shore 
2 59 


SWEET PEGGY 


to shore, back and forth under Brooklyn bridge, 
plied steamers of all kinds, from the stately ocean 
liner just in from her voyage to another world, to 
the saucy little craft with New York Herald fly- 
ing from her mast-head. 

For the last three days Farmer Turner had 
been asking himself whether there were any 
people left in the other parts of the world. He 
had accompanied the bridal party to New York, 
and while Peggy, under Mrs. Eastman’s direc- 
tions, was purchasing a wardrobe such as that 
lady thought necessary, York had amused him- 
self by taking his father-in-law about the city. 
The farmer had not been to New York since he 
was a young man, and coming to it directly from 
Cathance the magnitude and wonder of it com- 
pletely bewildered him. Under York’s guidance 
he had thoroughly explored it. He had ridden 
in an automobile, watched the bulls and bears 
howling in their den at the great Stock Exchange, 
had gone through the World Building, crossed 
Brooklyn bridge, enjoyed a good hour at the 
Eden Musee, and now, like the Queen of Sheba, 
with no more spirit left in him, was driving to 
the dock where lay one of the greatest steamships 
in the world. 

The good man looked very sober as he sat be- 
260 


A DUET 


side Peggy, her little hand in his big hard one. The 
last week had been so full of excitement that he had 
not realized how hard the parting would be, but 
now, as they drove through the densely crowded 
streets, he thought how soon the wide ocean 
would roll between him and the little girl who 
had but a short time ago been riding on the hay 
and playing in the brook. The baby, the child of 
their old age, was leaving them, never to be their 
own again. 

“You’ll be sure to write, Peggy,” said he, 
wistfully. “ Your mother is alone up there among 
the hills, and she ’ll be watching for letters.” 

“Of course I will write, father,” promised 
Peggy. “ Did I not write often last winter, 
almost every day ? ” 

“ But it will be different now,” said the farmer, 
soberly. “ You ’re going farther away, and you ’ve 
got a husband ; ” and he looked at the handsome 
bridegroom sitting opposite. “ Remember, you 
promised to take care of her,” he said solemnly. 
“ She ’s the child of our old age, and somehow 
seems dearer than all the rest.” 

“ I will remember,” said York, earnestly, “ and 
I will bring her back as happy as when I take her 
away. You may trust me.” 

As the driver just then drew rein upon the 
261 


SWEET PEGGY 


dock, the farmer made no reply ; but as he followed 
York out of the carriage, he silently drew the 
back of his hand across his eyes. There was a 
large party to see them off, but Peggy paid little 
heed to the flowers, good wishes, and compliments 
showered upon her. She stood quietly by the 
railing close to her father, thinking with dim eyes 
of the old gray farmhouse among the hills and 
the mother left there alone. York stood at her 
other side, quietly shielding her from the party of 
gay friends who had come to see them off. He 
was glad when the usual “ All ashore who ’s going 
ashore ” was given, for Peggy would feel better 
when the parting was over, and he wanted her all 
to himself. Quietly kissing his daughter and 
wringing his son-in-law’s hand, Farmer Turner 
followed the Eastmans down the gang-plank. 
On the dock he turned to look back. There 
she was by the railing, her husband by her side, 
waving her handkerchief to him. The farmer 
again drew his hand across his eyes, but he 
could not help thinking that it was a bright, 
hopeful picture that they made, — the two young 
people there in the heart of the warm October 
sunshine, facing the future with brave and loving 
hearts. 

Soon the wheels began to revolve, and, panting 
262 


A DUET 


like a huge monster, the great steamer swung out 
from her moorings, and her wake began to make 
the tugs and ferry-boats in the harbor toss and 
tumble wildly about. Passing the Statue of 
Liberty, she steamed out into the open bay, while 
the sunset threw its long, level beams over the 
dark, smoky city now growing dim in the dis- 
tance. Soon Sandy Hook was but a long silver 
strip on the horizon ; the light-ship was passed 
and saluted with a hoarse, gruff whistle, and the 
ocean, limitless, expansive, magnificent, stretched 
out on every side, with here and there a white- 
winged ship drifting slowly along before the light 
breeze. As the red sunset faded and the great 
October moon rode high in the heavens and made 
a golden pathway of the sea, turning into flashes 
of blue, green, and red the steamer’s great wide 
wake, ships, like sheeted ghosts, passed in the 
pale light without jar or motion, while the steamer 
labored on, its flashing lights vying with the glory 
of the moon. 

Peggy proved a good sailor, and she and York 
paced back and forth on the almost deserted deck, 
enjoying the glorious moonlight, well protected 
from the clear, cool, bracing air of the fine Octo- 
ber night. 

“ What are you thinking of, Peggy?” asked 
263 


SWEET PEGGY 


York, looking down into the girlish face, which 
looked very white and serious in the moonlight. 

“ Of the old farmhouse among the hills,” she 
said slowly. “ It is such a contrast to this that 
it does not seem as though both can be real.” 

“Which is the more unreal?” asked York, 
thinking that already Cathance seemed like a 
dream. 

“ This,” said Peggy, looking round on the 
great steamer, then glancing out on the moonlit 
water. “ It does not seem possible that I, a 
little Cathance girl, can be going to Germany 
to fit myself for a great career.” 

“ Hum,” said York, slowly, “ we have not said 
much about that career. Suppose we talk it over.” 

“To sing has been the dream of my life ever 
since I can remember,” said Peggy, with kindling 
eyes. “The Nelsons gave me my first encourage- 
ment. They told me I could sing; but I was 
afraid I could not have the advantages I wanted, 

— father could not afford to send me to Europe, 

— but everything is different now.” 

“Yes, very different,” said York, quietly. 
“ Has it never occurred to you, Peggy, that I 
may not want to give my wife to the public ? ” 

“ Max,” and pausing, Peggy looked up into 
her husband's face, “ are we not going to Ger- 
264 


A DUET 

many so that I can study and have my voice 
trained ? ” 

“ Certainly,” he replied easily, cc you are to 
study as much and as long as you want to ; but 
that does not necessarily mean that you are going 
to become a public singer.” 

£C Have I not a fine voice ? ” she persisted. 
“Were you not in earnest when you praised 
my singing ? ” 

“Was I not in earnest when I praised the lady 
boarder ? ” he asked lightly. ££ But you are my 
wife now.” 

££ And that means I am to be your slave,” she 
pouted. ££ You didn’t tell me I would have to 
give up my singing when you made me put on 
my hat and walk with you down to the church.” 

££ Would it have made any difference if I had ? ” 
he asked softly, drawing her closer to him. 

££ And now you want me to confess meekly that 
I would have given up everything for you,” she 
retorted, ££ like a heroine in a book, but I won’t. 
I think you are a tyrant, and I am not going to 
make any nice speeches to you at all.” 

York only laughed as he drew her hand through 
his arm and resumed the tramp up and down the 
deck. 

££ I ’m not a tyrant, Peggy,” said he, ££ but I 
265 


SWEET PEGGY 


know the world better than you do, and I cannot 
let the little mountain daisy that I have won be 
transplanted into an atmosphere that would not 
agree with her. Do you understand ? ” 

cc Can’t you trust me, Max ? ” asked Peggy, 
reproachfully. <c I would not let the life spoil me. 
Just try me and see. It is selfish of you to want 
me to give up my plans and lead your life. If 
you loved me as I love you, you would not ask 
me to do it.” 

As he looked down into his wife’s face, York 
was struck for the first time by its sweet woman- 
liness, and, suddenly realizing that Peggy was 
not a mere girl to be moulded by his touch, he 
was man enough to acknowledge the truth of 
her words. 

“ I am selfish,” said he, frankly. <c I have never 
done what I might have with my own voice. 
You have already taught me a good deal.” 

“ Don’t make me give up my plans, Max,” 
she pleaded. “ Let me try ; and if you see that 
the life is not good for me, that I love you less, 
— though that could not be possible, — I will give 
it up. But please let me try.” 

“ All right, Peggy,” said he, soberly. “ I don’t 
want to be a selfish tyrant, so we will make a 
bargain : you can go on with your plans, and 
266 


A DUET 


after you have tried the life of a public singer, 
take your choice whether you will belong to the 
public or to me.” 

“ I shall always belong to you, Max,” said 
Peggy, fondly, “ whether I sing in public or not. 
You are a dear to let me try my own way. If 
you find it does not agree with me, or that I am 
neglecting my duties, I will give it up without a 
murmur.” 

“The bargain is sealed,” said York, lightly. 
“ Marriage is a mutual giving and receiving, and 
you must not let me demand too much.” 

“I don’t think there will be much danger,” 
laughed Peggy. cc You have begun beautifully.” 

“ I shall end by being the slave,” he declared. 
<c In the future I see myself the husband of the 
famous Madam York.” 

“ No,” said Peggy, gravely, “ for you will sing 
too, and neither will shine in the other’s reflected 
light.” 

“ As to that, we will wait till you have had a 
taste of it,” said York, significantly. 


2 67 


Chapter XXI 

THE FINALE 



M R. AND MRS. MAXWELL YORK 
were at home. 

One of the old New York houses 
which had been a grand mansion in the days of 
Governor Clinton was still part of York’s ances- 
tral property, although he had had many oppor- 
tunities to sell it to good advantage. It had 
been in the way of a number of improvements 
and enterprises : the growing, changing, bustling 
city had crowded up to it, overshadowed it, 
frowned upon it; but still it stood its ground, 
the same inside and out as when the ladies in 
court gowns and powdered hair and the gentle- 
men in curled wigs and knee breeches danced the 
minuet in its old oak hall with the deep wide- 
mouthed fireplace. 


268 


THE FINALE 


It had been a romantic notion of York's to 
preserve it ; and his sister had upheld him in it in 
spite of her husband, who declared it to be rank 
foolishness to hold to a piece of property when a 
fortune might be made by selling it. But even 
Mrs. Eastman did not dream the length her 
brother's romantic ideas would carry him until he 
announced his intention of living in the old 
house on his return to his native city. 

“The idea is absurd, Max," the lady declared. 
“ The house is all out of repair." 

“No, it is not," he declared. “ I have looked 
out for that. I have always intended to live in 
it when I settled down.” 

“ But it is so out of the way," the lady pro- 
tested. “ If you issue cards with that address no 
one will know where to find you." 

“ Those who really want to see us will be able 
to find the place," he returned, “ and the rest 
may stay away. It is a great deal better than 
apartments at a fashionable hotel or a stived-up 
flat up-town. Peggy is delighted with the house 
and eager to get settled." 

“ Do call her Margaret, Max," urged his 
sister, “ or at least Daisy, if you must have a nick- 
name." 

“Never!" York declared. “There are one 
269 


SWEET PEGGY 


or two things, Leo, in which I am determined to 
have my own way.” 

“ One or two things ! ” sighed his sister. “ In 
what are you not determined to have your 
own way ? Daisy will have no callers down 
there, for no one will know where to find her.” 

“ She does not care a rap whether she has any 
fashionable callers or not,” replied York. “ Her 
friends will be able to find her.” 

“Yes, those long-haired musicians and crazy- 
looking artists you gather round you,” said his 
sister, in despair. “ I heard you had that man to 
dine with you who goes out entertaining at private 
houses.” 

“Yes,” said York, calmly, “we invited him. 
Poor fellow ! he enjoyed being a regular, genuine 
guest for once. He plays divinely ; we had some 
great old music after dinner, and accompanying 
Peggy's singing raised him to the seventh heaven.” 

“ But how embarrassing it will be for you to 
meet him at some house where he is hired to play 
the piano,” suggested his sister. 

“I do not see why it need be,” said York, calmly. 
“I am never ashamed to acknowledge my friends, 
and I am sure Peggy is not.” 

“ You are incorrigible ! ” exclaimed Mrs. East- 
“ There is no doing anything with you.” 
270 


man. 


THE FINALE 


“Just let us be happy in our own way,” he 
urged. “ You always approved of not selling 
the house. You wanted it kept in the family, so 
I do not see why you need grumble because we are 
going to live there. When we get settled come 
down and see us, and bring George and the boys. 
They ’ll like it ; I expect the kids will want to 
spend half their time there. My namesake coolly 
informed me that he was in love with Peggy, 
and when I died he was going to marry her. I 
thought he rather hinted that he would like me 
to shuffle off this mortal coil as soon as possible.” 

“Peggy spoils them,” Mrs. Eastman announced. 

“ She probably does, if making boys jolly and 
comfortable spoils them,” he replied. “ Now, be 
good-natured, Leo, and come and see us.” 

“ Oh, I shall,” she replied graciously. “ I ’m 
going to see Daisy, for I insist that she have an 
£ At Home’ soon for my friends. I want her to 
get into our set.” 

So it came to pass that the old house was 
thrown open, and the “ fashionables,” as York 
called them, came to Peggy’s “ At Home,” and 
having once come were loath to leave. If they 
had entered in the spirit of criticism, it soon 
passed away before the charm of the quaint, old 
rooms, with their open fireplaces, heavy wain- 
271 


SWEET PEGGY 


scoring, low-studded ceilings, and polished hard- 
wood floors. Leaving the bustle and tumult of 
the busy city, they stepped into an atmosphere 
of charm and quiet such as is not met in the 
fashionable, luxurious, up-town mansions. The 
old house was thrown open, and the guests 
wandered at will through the rooms. They ad- 
mired the old pictures in the hall and drank their 
tea by the light of the fire glowing behind the 
old andirons of polished brass. 

And the hostess? What of her? A good 
deal of quiet gossip went on over the tea-cups in 
regard to the graceful little lady who received 
them in the old oak hall. Was it true that she 
had been a little country girl who used to drive 
cows and ride on the hay ? She was said to 
possess a voice of wonderful tone and compass, 
but as yet none of them had been privileged to 
hear it. 

The crowds had thinned. Only those remained 
who felt privileged to linger by the pleasant fire- 
side, when York entered the room, and, going up 
to his wife, who was resting before the fire sipping 
a cup of tea, he leaned over her chair, saying 
something in a low tone. 

“ Yes, indeed,” said Peggy, springing to her 
feet. “ Is he here ? ” 


2 72 


THE FINALE 


cc Yes, concealed in the music-room until the 
auspicious moment.” 

“ It has come, I think,” said Peggy, glancing 
around the room at her few remaining guests. 
“ Get them into the music-room, and I will go 
and prepare him for his debut.” 

Setting down her tea-cup, Peggy slipped out, 
and when the guests filed into the music-room 
they found her standing near the grand piano. At 
her side was a slender, dark-eyed boy. A violin 
rested lightly against his shoulder, and over it he 
surveyed the company with frank, fearless eyes and 
a friendly smile which showed the gleam of strong 
white teeth. York took his place at the piano, 
and a strain of delightful music filled the room. 



m 





3m 




- — 1 — v-* « 

1 — #- 

li 


The sweet, sad notes of the violin rose and fell, 
and mingling with it was the beautiful contralto 
voice of the hostess. Study, practice, and the 
best of masters had done much, and now the girl 
who used to sing in the woods and by the lake- 
side could hold a critical audience enthralled. 
Only the voice and violin in blended harmony, 
sustained by the rich-toned piano, broke the 
silence, but almost before the last note died away, 
18 273 


SWEET PEGGY 


tumultuous applause burst forth. Fashionable, 
critical, and sated though they were, the audience 
could recognize the rare charm of what they had 
seen and heard. 

“Wonderful! beautiful! magnificent!” were 
the exclamations that echoed round the room. 
“ Who is he ? Such a handsome boy ! A 
foreigner, I know.” 

“Yes, he is one of Max’s and Daisy’s proteges,” 
Mrs. Eastman explained. “He came over in an 
immigrant ship with a horde of Italians. They 
are very careful now and won’t let them land, 
you know, unless they can support themselves. 
They were going to send this boy back where he 
came from, when he seized his violin — he could 
not speak a word of English — and began to play. 
Max happened to be there, and he says that in 
another minute he would have had them all danc- 
ing. Then the boy made signs that with his violin 
he would be able to take care of himself. The 
authorities did not know what to do, but Max 
came forward and told them to let him go, and he 
would be responsible for him.” 

“ What is he going to do with him ? ” was the 
eager question. 

“ Oh, educate him, I suppose,” the lady replied, 
“and help him on in the musical world.” 

274 


THE FINALE 


“ How delightful ! ” was the enthusiastic ex- 
clamation. “And Mrs. York sings with him. I 
never knew anything more romantic/’ 

„Yes; and if you want to please Max and 
Daisy,” Mrs. Eastman added, cc take an interest 
in him.” 

That was not difficult, for the young Italian 
had already won their hearts. Although he could 
not speak a word of English, his bright smile, 
shining eyes, and quick, graceful gestures re- 
sponded to the friendly advances better than 
words. Then his violin was the key to all hearts. 
No one could resist it, for it set feet to dancing, 
then in a twinkling, changing tone and melody, 
brought tears to many eyes, or again swept the 
listeners away to a world of dreams, ruled and 
governed by music. 

While Mrs. Eastman’s friends were planning 
to welcome into their exclusive circle the charm- 
ing Mrs. York, the public were eagerly anticipat- 
ing the pleasure of hearing the young contralto 
singer who had completed her studies abroad and 
was about to make her debut on the American 
stage at one of the opening concerts of the season. 
York had kept his promise, and already tickets 
had been sold until there was left only standing- 
room in the great auditorium. The story of 
275 


SWEET PEGGY 


the girl who used to sing in the woods around the 
Cathance had gotten abroad, and the music-loving 
world was eager to welcome her as one of its 
own. 

The sight of the great auditorium on the night 
of the opening concert delighted the manager’s 
heart, for it was packed from the floor to the 
highest gallery. Madam York was evidently 
going to be a success, he thought, rubbing his 
hands in the wings as he looked out on the 
swarms of humanity. 

In two of the best seats in the building sat a 
couple who had come to the city the day before, 
and now, in company with Mr. and Mrs. East- 
man, sat in a state of suppressed excitement while 
the orchestra tuned their instruments. Mrs. 
Turner, in the splendor of the best black silk and 
lace collar, fanned herself vigorously as of old ; 
while the farmer, stiff and uncomfortable in the 
suit of clothes donned for the occasion, mopped 
his brow with his handkerchief as he gazed in 
awe down on the great stage. 

At last, led out by the conductor, she stood in 
the centre of the stage, — a slender, white-robed 
figure with no ornament but the roses York had 
given her, and no jewelry save her wedding ring, 
while the great building rang with applause. 

276 


THE FINALE 


The violins began the prelude, the brass instru- 
ments dashing in with a great crescendo which 
ceased as the flageolet took up the obbligato. 
Raising her eyes to the place where sat the farmer 
and his wife, Peggy began to sing. The beautiful 
voice that used to awaken the echoes sleeping 
around the Cathance rang out in the great con- 
cert hall above the crash of many instruments in 
magnificent harmony, then, in unison with the 
flageolet, rose and fell in a sweet cadence that sent 
a thrill throughout the great audience. As the 
last note died away, the bursts of applause shook 
the building. Mrs. Turner, fanning faster than 
ever, did not notice the congratulatory smiles of 
the Eastmans ; while the farmer, mopping his red 
face, breathed hard and fast with no eyes for any- 
thing but the slender white figure on the stage. 
The applause, bursting out again and again, was 
the homage of the public to the woman as well 
as the singer. It was what she represented, as 
she stood before them in her simple white robes 
with the plain wedding ring upon her finger, that 
caused the outburst. They had heard fine sing- 
ing before, but it was the atmosphere of home, 
of noble, refined womanhood, that Peggy brought 
with her, that actuated the applause. 

When she returned, escorted by her husband, 
277 


SWEET PEGGY 


her arms full of the flowers that had been be- 
stowed upon her, men and women, rising in their 
seats, saluted her with their handkerchiefs until 
the great auditorium seemed full of falling snow- 
flakes. The orchestra moved back, the great 
piano was rolled forward, and taking his place 
before it, York began the prelude of that well- 
known air that never will grow old. Instantly a 
hush fell upon the audience as, standing by the 
piano, her hands clasped about her flowers, Peggy 
sang her welcome to her native land : — 

“ Home, home, sweet, sweet home ; 

Be it ever so humble. 

There ’s no place like home.” 

In her mind's eye she again saw the old gray 
farmhouse in the hollow, with the sheltering 
mountains towering behind it ; and the beautiful 
voice, trembling with emotion, touched every 
heart, and caused handkerchiefs to slyly wipe away 
gathering tears. Mrs. Turner's fan ceased to 
wave, and with his big hands clasped in his lap 
the farmer sat with the tears rolling unheeded 
over his cheeks. As the last note died away, an 
eloquent little pause followed, then the applause 
burst out louder than ever. 

“Are you satisfied?" whispered York, as he 
wrapped her white cloak about her shoulders. 

278 


THE FINALE 


“ Oh, it was beautiful ! ” she replied with shin- 
ing eyes. “ It is inspiring to be able to give so 
much pleasure, but I will give it up, Max, if you 
say the word, and go home and sing only for 
you.” 

“ Never! ” he declared. cc I will not shut up 
my singing bird, but will share her, that the 
world may be made better for her song/* 


279 


LfcAplQ 


Two New and Appealing Characters 


SUSAN CLEGG AND HER 
FRIEND MRS. LATHROP 


By ANNE WARNER 

Author of “ A Woman's Will.” 16mo. Cloth. $ 1.00 

TIlHE original character drawing and quaint humor and fun 
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LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers, BOSTON 
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